The Cullen Bunch
by Blueroan
Summary: Will this group somehow form a family . . . will they become the Cullen Bunch? Not quite a crossover, but based on the Brady Bunch. Full summery inside. AU/AH
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** _I do not own or have Rights to Twlight or its chracters._

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**Summery:**Esme and her daughters are still putting their lives back together Fifteen years after she divorced her abusive husband. Carlisle and his sons are still grieving four years after the loss of his wife to cancer. Will this group somehow form a family . . . will they become the Cullen Bunch?

This isn't exactly a crossover, but I did get the idea from the Brady Bunch.

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**Esme**

****

_Here's the story of the lovely Esme,_

_Who was bringing up three very lovely girls._

_They were making a great life, with their mother,_

_Four very strong willed girls._

****

"Alice, hurry up your going to make your sister's late for school again." I shouted up the stairs. With traffic on the I75/85 connector through downtown Atlanta always at a crawl this time of the morning, the earlier we got on the road the better.

My other two daughters, Rosalie and Bella sat with scowls and folded arm on the sofa. Rose and Bella never had trouble getting it together in the mornings, but my Alice was the fashion queen of the Platt/Evenson household. She had to look absolutely perfect at all times, this in spite of the fact that she went to a private school and wore a uniform every day.

"You never know who you'll meet Mom," She told me one day. "First impressions are lasting impressions."

Alice was my middle child, Rose was my oldest, and Bella was the baby. It was Alice who was the spoiled one though, she'd been daddy's little girl when her father, Charles, and I were still married. I was five months pregnant with Bella when he and I divorced.

Charles was a brutal man, he beat me black and blue regularly and, like the door mat that I was at that time, I allowed it. I even excused it, saying to friends that he was just frustrated because, as an architect, I made more money than him. I was sure that once his general contracting business took off, his income would increase and he would feel more secure.

That never happened; his business went under just three weeks after he learned I was carrying Bella. He urged me . . . no, he insisted that I get an abortion, but I refused. The abuse got worse after that, until one day I showed up to a prenatal appointment covered in bruises. My OB/GYN, Dr. Green, took me into his private office and gently questioned me about the marks. I couldn't hold back any longer, and told him everything. He made three phone calls while I sat there, one to the local woman's shelter, one the Columbus police, and one to an attorney friend of his.

"There's one more call that, by law, I should make," I remember him telling me gravely. "I should call child welfare, but I won't because _you're_ going to get those girls out of there. You're a smart woman Esme, there's no reason on earth for you to stay in an abusive marriage. No man has the right to put his hands on you. If he beats you, what's to stop him from beating the girls too?"

He was right, of course, and while I was scared and confused back then, today I give full credit to Dr. Green for saving my life . . . and my daughter's lives.

"Mary Alice Evenson," I called again, trying to sound angry, but it never seemed to work. Still, she hated it when I called her Mary Alice, and it usually got her moving.

While my girls all had their father's surname, I went back to my maiden name, Platt, after the divorce. The things he accused me of in court and the threats he made against me outside of court made the name repulsive to me. For the longest time I couldn't even say _Evenson_ without shuddering involuntarily.

I also took the divorce as an opportunity to move away from Columbus, Ohio. To get a fresh start as it were. Jessica, one of my sorority sisters and close friends from Ohio State encouraged me to move to Atlanta. Her husband, Mike, owned an architecture firm in the metro and he made me an outstanding offer. So I packed up the girls and our husky, Jake, and headed south to the genteel home of Scarlet O'Hara and Coca-Cola.

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs made me look up. Alice finally decided to join us. Like her sisters, she was beautiful. Of the three, she was the most petit; at just shy of five feet tall she looked like a pixie. She had dark hair and green eyes like grandfather, but she had her father's pale complexion.

Rose was taller than me, with a thick luxurious mane of hair that was the color of sun ripened grain, just like her father's. She was slim, but with generous curves exactly where ever woman wants them. I saw the way boys, and even grown men, looked at her and it worried me. It didn't seem to bother Rose in the least, she adored the attention.

Bella was the quiet one, my little bookworm. She was between Alice and Rose in hight. Her medium brown hair hung well below her shoulders and matched the color of her eyes. Charles immediately accused me of cheating when she was born because she didn't look anything like either of us. But actually, Bella was the spitting image of my material grandmother. The resemblance was so remarkable, it was spooky.

"Finally," Rose grumped. "I mean honestly, you're going to school, not a fashion shoot at Cosmo."

Alice stuck her tongue out at Rose and Bella rolled her eyes in disgust at the whole thing. Though they argued I knew my girls loved each other very much.

"Come on you three," I insisted as I picked up my purse and portfolio. "If I have to sing you in for being late again your principal is going to put _me_ in detention."

"Don't sweat Mr. Sutton, Mom," Rose sneered as she led the procession of sisters out the front door. "I know what he does in the teacher's lounge during study hall. I have pictures on my iphone of him and Mrs. Jenkins doing . . ."

"Rosalie!" I interrupted, "That's quite enough. You shouldn't be spying on people, it's unladylike."

All three of them snickered in unison as we piled into the van. I could only wonder at the veiled meaning behind their laughter.

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**Carlisle**

*****

_Here's the story, of a man named Carlisle,__  
Who was busy with three boys of his own.  
They were four men, living all together,  
Yet they were all alone._

*****

I was stuck, as usually, in the gridlocked of downtown Atlanta traffic. A recent study cited that Atlanta drivers spent more time stuck in traffic than any other commuter group in the nation. I could defiantly believe it. The commute from my home on the north side to my job at Grady Hospital, which should only take about forty five minutes, usually took three times that long.

I wasn't accustomed to such urban sprawl, my three sons and I moved here from the quite town of Forks, Washington three years ago. There was no traffic in Forks, except on homecoming night when the Forks High School homecoming parade snarled traffic on Main Street. I smiled as I remember the last one.

The blaring of a car horn from the lane to the right of me pulled me from my thoughts. I pressed hard on the brake to avoid the car trying to bully its way into the lane in front of me. I let out an angry growl and clutched the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white. It was then that my eyes focused on the necked ring finger of my left hand. I shuddered; not wearing my wedding band was still a shock to me.

Even after four years, it still hurt and I fought to maintain control of my emotions. Rebecca was the love of my life, and having her wrenched away from me was the most painful thing I'd ever had to endure.

Our initial meeting was the stuff of fairy tales. I was just finishing the 'easy' part of medical school and was about to begin my internship. Rebecca Morgan was a marketing major in her junior year. We met, or rather, we _ran into_ each other in the library. I knocked her to the ground as I came around the end of a bookshelf. I was mortified, and to make up for my clumsiness I asked her out for coffee. Two years later, we were married.

In the years that followed, I became Dr. Carlisle Cullen MD and together we had three wonderful sons, Edward, Jasper and finally Emmett. Rebecca was a wonderful mother and the boys adored her. We were a happy family until five years ago when Rebecca was diagnosed with breast cancer . . . a year later she lost her fight with the cursed disease. Her passing left us all in a shambles.

I did my best, as a father to help my sons through the trying times that followed while, at the same time, managing my own grief. Edward, our oldest took it the worst, he was the apple of his mother's eye, her golden boy. Edward was in the middle of his eighth grade year when Becca died and he went from straight A's to straight F's almost overnight. He started skipping school and hanging out with a local bad boy named Sam Uley, from the Quileute reservation down in La Push. Before I knew it, Edward was getting into all manner of trouble. The last straw with him was the day my good friend Chief Swan brought him home in the back seat of a squad car.

Jasper wasn't doing much better; he was in the sixth grade and attending the same school as his older brother. While Edward rebelled, Jasper withdrew. My sensitive, creative, and witty son became quiet and sullen. He absolutely refused to talk, to anyone . . . including, or perhaps I should say, especially me. I later learned that he blamed me because I'm a doctor and the doctors couldn't save his mother.

Emmett, the youngest, was still in elementary school . . . a fifth grader. Em had always been big for his age, taller and huskier than his year mates. He stopped going outside to play with his friends and his appetite exploded, he ate everything in sight and put on considerable weight.

I was at my wits end. My own heart was broken, I was failing as a father, and I didn't know what to do. One night, out of desperation I picked up the phone and called an old friend and mentor from my residency days, Dr. Aro Veracini. He listened patiently as I told him my woes and when I was finished he offered his council.

"I know this is not what you wish to hear old friend," I remember him saying in his thick Tuscan accent, "But perhaps a change in venue would be better, for all of you."

"Where will I go?" I asked him. "My life and everything I know is here in Forks." I remember feeling lost, and wanting nothing more than for someone to take me by the hand and lead me.

"I am friends with the Chief of Staff at Grady Hospital, here in Atlanta." Aro's voice was calm and sure. "We are lodge brothers and he owes me a favor or two. Let me speak with him and I'll get back to you."

A month later we were moving into our new home in Gwinnett. Aro, his wife Sulpicia, and their twins Jane and Alec became our new extended family. We spent almost as much time at their home as we did at our own. The hardest part, for me though was leaving my beloved behind, Forks was her final resting place and I felt as if, in leaving, I was losing her twice.

Three years down the line and things are better now. Edward is a senior in high school with plans to attend medical school next fall. Jasper is a sophomore and Em is a freshman. They're healing, but I can still read the sadness and pain in their eyes.

My cell phone rang, forcing me from my reminiscing. I pressed the button on my earpiece and answered the call.

"It's just me, Carlisle." Suplicia's warm voice filled my ear. "Aro told me to be sure to check up on you today, because it's . . . well, that is, he wanted to make sure you were ok."

"It's mine and Rebecca's wedding anniversary." I supplied for her, she seemed uncomfortable saying it herself. "I know, and thank you for your concern, but I'm fine."

"You know Aro, he worries." She explained.

"Yes I know tell _'Mother Veracini'_ that I'm fine and I'll call him around lunch time."

"I will." She hesitated a moment and then asked, "Are you and the boys still coming by for dinner this evening, I was going to make cavatini."

"My dear Sulpicia, wild horses couldn't keep me away from your cavatini." I told her plainly. It was true; the woman's cooking was simply amazing. "We'll be there at seven thirty and I'll bring the wine."

I hung up the phone just as I pulled into my reserved space in the employee's parking lot.

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**Footnote:**I've seen several last names for Aro in a number of differant Fics, but I don't recal one from SM's book. If you know of one, tell me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note:** I do not own or have rights to Twilight or it's characters.

**AN:** _I want to thank the two of you who buzzed in with info on Aro's last name . . . Volturi. So I did a little research on that. As it turnes out, at the time Aro was born, 3000 years ago, surmanes wern't in common use, so he likly wouldn't have had one. He would have been Aro son of ------ (what ever his father's name was) or Aro the ---------'s son (whatever his father's occupation was), or Aro of ------- (whatever town he was from.) In a way you were right, Aro of Volterra could easily become Aro Volturi. Thanks for the info guys, and I hope you don't mind if I stick with Veracini._

Now on to the story!

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_**Till the one day when the lady met this fellow,**_

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**Esme**

I dropped the girls off at school and jumped back into the fray to head to work. As they were getting out of the car, Alice turned to me with the oddest expression on her face. It was distant and otherworldly, as if she were seeing into some alternate dimension.

"Be very careful going to work this morning, Mom. I have a strange feeling." She told me as she slung her backpack on her shoulder.

"I'm always careful, sweetheart." I answered. The look on her face and the unusual quality of her voice stunned me and I couldn't think of anything else to say.

Alice nodded but didn't look at all convinced.

"See you this afternoon Mom," Bella wished me well with a smile. "Tell Uncle Mike, I said he still owes me for winning the football pool."

I couldn't help but laugh. Bella wasn't the athletic type but she could play the spread on football games better than anyone I've ever known. Mike laughed at her when she picked Georgia Tech to win by seven points over UGA in the annual rivalry game. She bet all her birthday money on it. Now Mike owed her eighty bucks . . . or a trip to Six Flagges, loser's choice.

"I'll be sure to remind him, you girls have a great day," I told them. "And remember, I love you."

I left the school, glancing one last time in the review mirror to watch my girls making their way towards the front of the building. My little women were almost grown and I hoped I'd instilled in them everything they needed to be successful in life. It wasn't always easy, raising them alone, but we managed . . . somehow.

I pulled out of the parking lot and merged back into the insane morning traffic. I made my way towards the Krispy Kreme just up the street; it was my morning to spring for the office doughnuts. The inviting aroma of hot, sweet, deep fried bliss filled the little shop as I entered. Of course there was a line, at this hour of the morning it was to be expected. I placed my order and availed myself of the opportunity to have a cup of coffee too. I sat down with my coffee to wait from my order and texted, Mike Newton, my boss, that I might run a tad late.

My phone chimed a few moments later letting me know I had a new text message, it was a reply from Mike. Basically he didn't care how late I was so long as I brought him two of his favorite raspberry jelly doughnuts. I smiled as I looked down at the backlit screen, Mike and Jessica and their children Seth and Leah were the closest thing to family that the girls and I had in the world.

"Hey, mama, your order is ready." The girl behind the counter called me. I looked up and she had three boxes ready for me, two large ones and a smaller one containing Mike's personal order. I smiled and slipped her a little tip.

Once more I plunged headlong into the raging torrent of rush hour traffic. The vast array of sheer stupidity that one could witness taking place behind the wheels of Atlanta automobiles was mind boggling. Of course there were those that talked on the phone and sent texts instead of watching the road. If you moved up a notch up on the stupid scale, there were also the men who shaved in the rearview mirrors and, not to be outdone, there were also those women who applied makeup. More startling still, I had personally witness people reading the news paper and checking their email on their laptops while doing 70mph down I-285. Sometimes I wished I was a cop.

Less than fifteen minutes from the office, I ran into the other sure thing every Atlanta motorist is familiar with . . . road construction. In this case a broken water main that a crew from the city was trying to fix. The young man directing traffic signaled the cars in my lane to come through the intersection. I was third in line to cross, and I inched through just like everyone else.

Maybe the delivery truck coming on the cross street didn't see the man in the orange safety vest signaling franticly for him to stop, maybe the driver was distracted, or perhaps he just didn't care. Whatever the case, I didn't have the time or space to maneuver out of the way. I braced for impact and seconds later the sickening sound of screeching brakes, breaking glass, and snarling metal filled the morning air. The force of the bone jarring collision rattled my body. The airbag deployed, catching my head before it hit the steering wheel, but nothing could help my leg, I felt the shocking wave of pain radiate up from my left ankle.

Just as quickly as the chaos started it ended and everything went strangely quiet. I looked through my shattered windshield at the milling crowed, they seemed confused by what they just witnessed and unsure what to do. Finally the young man that had been directing traffic launched into action. He ordered one of his coworkers to dial 911 and then he and several others approached the scene.

*****

Grady Memorial Hospital maintained a reputation for excellence; they had one of the premier trauma centers in the southeast. So when the EMT told me they were taking me there, I was relieved. The ER was a beehive of activity when the wheeled me in. The nurse who was receiving my case talked rapidly to the paramedic, getting the details of my injuries and vitals. Though I knew this was likely how things were always done, I couldn't help but feel a little like the invisible woman.

I was wheeled into a room sectioned off with curtains into narrow bays. The sounds of other patients moaning or talking with family members created the effect of a constant buzz. The staff moved about like so many angry fire ants looking for the boot that had violated their mound. Nurse Williams who took my information from the paramedic checked me over herself before assuring me that the doctor would be with me shortly. I wasn't having a heart attack nor was I in any danger of bleeding to death so I assumed 'shortly' would mean, as soon as other more serious injuries were taken care of.

I was right; the wall clock opposite my gurney tracked the slow progression of time. I wanted to call Mike and let him know what happened, but my cell phone along with all my other possessions were well out of my reach. Besides, signs posted all around me clearly indicated the use of cell phones inside the ER was strictly forbidden, I would have to go outside.

Finally, just when I thought I'd been forgotten altogether, the curtain stirred and _he _entered my world.

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**Carlisle**

I locked my car and made my way to the employee's entrance. I made a brief stop in the locker room to put away my jacket and pick up my white coat before making my way to the ER. I checked in with the charge nurse, letting her know I was in, and then picked up my first case of the morning.

Esme Platt, the name at the top of the chart said, a 39 year old Caucasian female involved in a traffic accident. She complained of extreme pain in her left leg at the scene and the paramedics noted considerable swelling in her left ankle. This was straight forward enough I thought to myself as I made my way to exam room 4C.

Nothing like a routine case to clear the morning cobwebs out of the mind at the start of a shift. It would put me in better shape for the more unusual stuff that would inevitably show up later. That's what I liked about emergency medicine; there was never a dull moment.

"Hello," I announced myself before pulling back the curtain.

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**Esme**

"Good morning, Mrs . . . . Platt," He managed as he looked down at my chart for the name. "I'm Dr. Cullen and I here you were in a bit of an accident and hurt your . . . leg it says here."

Suddenly I found myself unable to reply as my eyes remained fixed on Dr. Cullen. The blond haired doctor was tall, just over six feet, with a sculpted body that his oxford shirt and white coat did little to hide, and he had the face of a Greek god. He looked like something out of the pages of _The History of the Art by H.W. Janson_; a lost master work of Michelangelo sculpted in supple living stone.

It was his face that mesmerized me more than anything else. A broad warm smile lit his features and extended up wards from his mouth to be mirrored in his kind sky blue eyes. I could have willingly lost myself in those eyes for all time and not cared. An involuntary sigh escaped my lips.

"Mrs. Platt," the sound of him calling my name pulled me back to my senses and I felt color bloom in my cheeks. In the years folowing the divorce I hadn't felt drawn to any man; in fact I'd only been on three dates. After Charles' abuse, I was perfectly contented to be alone . . . until now.

"My ankle," I finally managed absently.

"I beg your pardon?" he looked almost as confused as I felt.

"I didn't hurt my leg doctor, I hurt my ankle."

"Oh," he took a second look at my chart before crossing the short distance to my bedside. "My apologies, I seemed to have missed that." He gingerly pulled back the sheet to uncover my throbbing ankle. "Let's have a look, shall we?" He flashed me the most dazzling smile I'd ever seen, and in that moment I felt like a deer caught in the headlight of an oncoming car.

"Ok," I replied meekly. My thoughts were a jumbled mess and I was surprised I could make words at all.

His fingers probed gently at the swollen tender flesh, and he carefully manipulated the joint. Every touch, every movement, made me whimper with pain. He whispered his apologies each time he heard me indicate discomfort. As much as his examination hurt, I would have given anything to have him continue to touch me.

"I'm going to send you down to X-ray Mrs. Platt." He told me as he made some notations on my chart. It saddened me when I noticed he was careful not to meet my gaze.

"Is it broken?"

Finally he looked up and I saw a passing flash of color in his cheeks accompanied by a flustered look that danced behind his blue eyes. All of it lasted for only a second or two before he regained control of himself.

"It's possible, but with the considerable soft tissue damage it's difficult to tell." His voice radiated soothing comfort. "The X-rays will give me a definitive answer. Now if you'll excuse me I'll go and make the necessary arrangements."

"It hurts," I told him as he turned to leave. It was true, my ankle hurt like the devil but I also hoped my confession would keep him near me for just a few more minutes, the thought of him leaving bothered me in the most unusual way.

"Yes, of course," He muttered over his shoulder. "I'll order something for your pain before they come to take you down to radiology."

With that, he was gone. The nurse came shortly thereafter and gave me a shot for the pain. I was disappointed when I saw her part the curtains, I was hoping the handsome Dr. Cullen would return with my medicine. It was foolish really; I was behaving like a lovesick school girl.

I smiled politely at the young man from transportation when he arrived to take me to X-ray. As we passed through the maze that was the ER, my heart leapt into my throat when I thought I glimpsed Dr. Cullen seated at a small desk doing paperwork. I sighed again; I actually hoped my ankle was broken so that the good doctor would have to put a cast on it.

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**Carlisle**

After announcing myself, I enter the small space walled off by the hanging green and white stripped veil. Suddenly I stopped dead in my tracks, the sight I beheld stunned me and I could barely breathe. She was the image of a goddess, her caramel colored hair and delicate heart shaped face instantly capturing my attention. My eyes traveled quickly over her form, I could clearly read the curves of her soft rounded body beneath the sheet that draped her.

"Good morning Mrs. . . ." I found myself unable to remember the name I'd read just moments earlier . . . in fact I was having trouble remembering my own name. Her chart was in my hand and I glanced down at it, "Platt." I recovered and then I continued. "I'm Dr. Cullen and I hear you were in a bit of an accident and hurt your . . ." my mind failed me once again, I couldn't recall what part of this divine creature was injured, I glanced discreetly at her chart again. "Leg it says here."

For the span of several heart beats she did nothing but stair at me. I found it a bit unnerving and wondered if she might be suffering from a concussion. I smiled in an attempt to put her at ease, but it didn't seem to help.

"Mrs. Platt" I called gently, my concern grew with each passing second of her continued silence.

Finally she spoke.

"My ankle," she mumbled absently. Her voice had a dreamy quality to it that made me want to melt.

"I beg your pardon." I was so distracted by the sound of the two small words that had escaped her perfectly pouty lips, that I hadn't actually heard them.

"I didn't hurt my leg doctor, I hurt my ankle." She answered demurely.

Dear God, that voice, I thought, it was a siren's song more enchanting than anything I ever heard. I was certain if I continued to listen to it I would go mad, and yet the prospect of that didn't bother me nearly as much as it should . . . if I could only hear her say something else.

The weight of her expectant gaze hauled me back to reality. She was waiting for me to say something. My mouth was dry and my pulse was racing, I couldn't fathom what was wrong with me. Get it together Cullen, I chided myself and forced my mind to focus.

"Oh," I managed as I cast another glance at her chart. Stupid me, there it was plainly written in Nurse William's neat hand, _left ankle_. I closed the space between us in two strides and gently pulled back the covers to expose her injury. "My apologies, I seemed to have missed that."

The sight of her creamy skin and shapely calf nearly caused my undoing, I almost choked. An unwelcome and yet strangely pleasant fiery rush spread through me only to settle uncomfortably below my belt buckle. My eyes washed over her leg traveling ever lower until my gaze rested on her ankle. What should have been an artistically delicate transition between her calf and her foot was instead grotesquely swollen and horribly bruised. The sight quelled my odd and very unprofessional feelings.

I felt like a cad for having ogled my female patient. In my many years as a physician, I had treated numerous beautiful women and never behaved in such a dishonorable manor. I hoped she hadn't noticed my indiscretion, and I gave her my most winning smile

"Let's have a look, shall we?" I offered kindly to signal I wished to start my examination of her ankle. Once again she seemed stunned and didn't answer right away. If she kept that up, I was defiantly going check her for a concussion and order a CT of her head to make sure there was no damage.

"Ok," She replied shyly. I was thrilled with the chance to hear her voice again, but her odd behavior troubled me.

I gently probed her injury, causing her to moan in discomfort. "I'm sorry, just bare with me," I apologized. I didn't mean to cause her pain, but it was unavoidable. She whimpered even more when I manipulated the joint and, while I suspected the ankle was broken, I wouldn't know for certain until I sent her for a few films.

"I'm going to send you down to X-ray, Mrs. Platt." I told her in my most reassuring voice, and I noted my initial findings in her chart. I was careful not to look up at her, as I didn't wish to be distracted again.

"Is it broken?" She asked.

I could easily hear the apprehension that clung to each word. I wanted to sooth her fears away, to tell her everything would be alright. I finished writing and closed her chart. As I did, my eye caught the ghostly impression of my missing wedding band. Horror and embarrassment surged through me, on our anniversary I lost control. I felt dirty; like I had been cheating . . . It was such a betrayal of Rebecca's memory.

I finally looked up and I could feel the flush in my cheeks. I meet her gaze and put on the most professional mask of emotions I could muster.

"It's possible, but with the considerable soft tissue damage it's difficult to tell." I told her. I tried to be honest without sounding harsh. It wasn't her fault, after all, that I was having a meltdown. "The X-rays will give me a definitive answer. Now if you'll excuse me I'll go and make the necessary arrangements."

"It hurts." She whimpered softly as I was leaving. Of course it does you fool, I grumbled angrily to myself. Pain control was normally a high priority for patient care in my book. No one should have to suffer unduly, and the thought of Esme Platt in pain ripped at my very soul.

"Yes, of course," I muttered over my shoulder. While her plight concerned me, I was still embarrassed by my indiscreet behavior and my betrayal of Rebecca. I couldn't bring myself to look at Esme again. "I'll order something for your pain before they come to take you down to radiology."

With that I left her and set about making arrangements. First I ordered her pain meds then I contacted radiology to order her X-rays. Thoughts of her still haunted me, so I did the only sensible thing I could think of.

"Victoria," I called after my colleague, Dr. Victoria Steal. A few minutes later I'd managed to swap cases with her. She would treat Mrs. Platt, and I would deal with her seventy eight year old nursing home patient with the impacted bowels.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Note:** I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!!!_

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**Esme**

Four hours after arriving at the hospital, I was finally getting ready for discharge. The X-ray showed a fracture of one of the small bones in my ankle. I was now wearing a plastic boot called an air cast and sitting in a wheelchair waiting for the doctor to sign off on my paperwork.

I was very disappointed when I returned from radiology, not because I learned I had a fracture, but because of _her_. The young man from transportation parked me back in my bay and told me to hang tight.

When I heard footsteps coming my way, an instant smile lit my face. My overactive imagination had spent the past thirty minutes daydreaming about the handsome Dr. Cullen. I played it out like a soap opera in my head, the way he would sweep into my curtained off world and tell me _'the news'_, the feel of his hands against my skin as he applied the plaster cast. My heart raced as I thought about the glint in his amazing blue eyes and that warm smile that beamed like a search light. Yes, my imagination kept me very entertained during my trip to X-ray.

The curtain parted and I saw her instead. I was confused at first, thinking that perhaps the red head was a physician's assistant or a doc in training, and Dr. Cullen would be right behind her. But it never happened.

"Hello, Mrs. Platt," The tall read head addressed me without even looking up from her notes. "I'm Dr. Victoria Steal; I'll be taking over for Dr. Cullen on your case." Her voice was monotone and ice cold; already I could tell she had the bedside manors of an undertaker. "It seems you have a fracture. Considering the details of the accident, you're very lucky . . . it could have been a lot worse."

She probably wished it had been worse; she seemed like the type who thrived on pain and gore . . . the more the better.

"Where's Dr. Cullen?" I demanded.

For the first time she looked up at me. Her flaming red-orange mane made her emerald eyes look like glowing green coals, I knew she was pissed off by the way she glared at me. I felt like I was back in grade school and I was about to get sent to the principal's office for talking back to the teacher.

"Dr. Cullen is busy with another patient at the moment, he asked me to take over for him . . . is there a problem with that Mrs. Platt?" Her words were so icy and sharp I felt the temperature drop ten degrees as she said them.

"Uhm, no, I just wondered . . ." I stammered and the trailed off.

She continued to hold me in her cold hard gaze for several more seconds before mercifully releasing me. "We believe in teamwork here Mrs. Platt," The way she said my name made me shudder. "That's what makes us the best in the southeast at what we do. Now if you have no further questions, I'll go see about getting you into a cast and getting you out of here."

I was so thankful when _Elvira_ turned and left. About thirty minutes later the kind nurse Williams returned with a pair of crutches in one hand and what looked like a plastic ski boot in the other. She showed me how to wear the contraption, explaining that as the swelling in my ankle went down I was to adjust the fit of the boot using the little pump to inflate and deflate the airbags inside the boot. It was the latest technology.

"Do you have a way to get home?" the nurse asked me as she made the final adjustments to the air cast.

My van was totaled and in all the chaos I hadn't even thought about that. A taxi cab all the way back to my suburban home would cost a small fortune. Marta didn't run anywhere near my house.

"Maybe a friend you could call?" she suggested when she noticed my bewildered expression.

That was enough to kick my mind into gear. "Yes, but I can't use my cell phone in here."

"Let me get you a wheelchair," She smiled at me and I instantly felt better. "I'll wheel you out into the lobby for a bit and you can call from there."

In the Lobby I rummage through my purse until I found my phone. I had ten missed calls and five new text messages all from Mike. I took a deep breath and sighed before hitting his number on the speed dial.

"Where the hell are you?" Mike's voice boomed angrily through my ear piece the moment he picked up.

"Hello would be nice," I tried to make light of his temperamental growl but it didn't work.

"I've been calling for the past three hours, Esme," He grumbled. "If you wanted a personal day, all you had to do was ask. I'm not an ogre you know."

"I was in an accident this morning, Mike, I'm at the hospital."

"Oh my god. Esme, are you ok?" his voice went from annoyed to concerned instantly. "Which hospital, I'll be right there?" I could hear him clambering from his desk and grabbing his keys.

"I'm fine Mike, but I broke my ankle." I assured him. Mike looked big and tough but underneath he was just a teddy bear. "I'm at Grady. Do you think you could give Jess a call and have her pick me up . . . I kind of need a ride home."

"Call Jess, are you out of your mind?" he chuckled softly. I heard him mumbled something to his secretary about stepping out of the office on emergency business before he spoke to me again. "If I call my wife and tell her you've been in an accident and you're at the hospital I'm going to have two accident victims on my hands. I'm leaving the office now to come and get you."

There was no use arguing with Mike, because I knew I would lose. "Ok, Mike, and . . . thanks."

_____________________________________

**Carlisle**

It was just like Victoria to stick me with her most messy case in exchange for mine. It was no secret that she detested me, for several reasons. First on her list was the way in which I got my job, it seemed my position was originally destined for one of Vicky's friends and her current love interest at the time, a young doc from the Dominican Republic named Laurent Duvall. One phone call from Aro to the Chief of Staff however, and those plans were nixed. Dr. Duvall found another position at a respectable hospital on the Southside, but that still left me on Victoria's permeate hit list.

Then, of course there were her attempts at amorous advances. While it was plane to me, and to everyone else in a one hundred mile radius, that Victoria hated me she was also attracted to me. It's a well known fact that physical attraction doesn't necessarily require emotional attachment. She was interested in my body and nothing else, another notch on her bedpost. I, however, had no such interest in her. When I let her know this, the chains came off and the claws came out. She told me that one day she'd find a way to ruin me and that I would be sorry.

She said some other things too, hurtful thing, about the loss of my wife and about my family. I could forgive her for most of her remarks, but those still haunted me. Had I chosen to report the matter, I could have gotten her fired, but I let it go. Underneath her cold ruthless exterior was a frightened lonely little girl who wanted more than anything to be loved. Whether she knew it or not, I could read it in her eyes. Every time she spewed fowl words my way, I couldn't help but feel deep compassion for her pain. Unfortunately, my reaction only served to make her hate me even more.

As I was writing orders for Mr. Sanchez, the nursing home patient, I noticed the tech from transportation taking Mrs. Platt down to radiology. I felt bad about ditching her, but while Victoria and I didn't get along personally, my college was a top notch physician and I had every confidence that Esme would get the proper treatment.

Still, I couldn't help myself when her films arrived. While Vicky was busy, I managed to sneak a little peek. The fracture was quite clear. I made a mental note to give nurse Williams the name and number of my favorite Orthopedist, Dr. Marcus Santiago, to discreetly slip into Mrs. Platt's discharge packet. Dr. Santiago was a friend of Aro's; they were from the same little village in Tuscany . . . Volterra. Last year, when Emmett hurt his knee playing football, Marcus took very good care of him and I was extremely impressed.

I felt this little gesture was the least I could do to make up for bailing out on poor Mrs. Platt. It wasn't her fault that I couldn't control my emotions, let alone my body in her presence. Someday I would have to apologies to her properly.

________________________________

**Esme**

"Hey sir," I heard nurse Williams voice call moments before the curtain pulled back and Mike Newton entered my little cell.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but its family members only back here." The kind nurse who had seen to my every whim over the past four hours informed us.

"It's ok," I assured her, "This is Mike, my ride . . . and he's like family." I gave the nurse my most pathetic, sympathy seeking smile.

It worked. "Ok," She said reluctantly. "But if anyone asks, he's your cousin or something . . . got it."

I nodded and smiled knowingly. Obviously the 'anyone' of whom she spoke was _Elvira_, the cold blooded Dr. Steal. Thoughts of the woman made me shudder. How did tarantulas like that end up in medicine anyway?

"So what's the story?" Mike asked when the nurse left.

I pointed to my booted foot, "I broke it, and I have to wear this hideous thing and see an orthopedic doctor in a couple of days. Meanwhile, I'm on crutches."

Suddenly Mike started giggling. "You find my pain and suffering amusing, Mr. Newton?"

"No, its just that you look so adorable when you're annoyed," He confessed, a Cheshire cat grin still graced his lips.

I sighed. "I just want to go home Mike, and the sooner the better." I was tired and I couldn't wait to get back to my house, lie down on the sofa, and just relax.

Mike gave me a strange look, but said nothing. A few minutes later Nurse Williams showed up with paperwork for me to sing. After putting my name or initials in a hundred different places, I was finally being wheeled towards the exit.

"Where's your . . . cousin?" the nurse asked. She looked around as if she halfway expected _Elvira_ to pop out of thin air and devour both of us. It must be awful to work in such a hostile environment, I thought.

"He went to bring his truck around." I told her. I couldn't believe how happy I sounded.

Mike had impeccable timing, just as the glass doors swished open; he pulled up in his midnight blue Ford F150. The only thing on earth that Mike loved more than his family was his truck. I read somewhere that in ancient times the Bedouins of the Arabian Desert brought their fine Arabian horses into the tents with them at night, if Jess would let him, Mike would do the same with his pick-up.

I watched with a smile spread across his face as he got out and came around to our side.

"How is she supposed to get up in that monstrosity of yours?" The nurse asked. Mike's truck sat up higher than most, with big mud tiers and special suspension. "You expect her to go mountain climbing with a broken ankle?"

Mike continued to smile as he opened the passenger's side door. "I don't expect her to do anything, darlin'," and with that Mike scooped me into his arms, pivoted, and deposited my on the front seat. Before closing the door he fastened my seat belt for me. "Just in case," He informed me with a wink.

We made small talk as he stalked his way through the lunch time traffic. Once on the interstate, however I noticed something was very wrong.

"This isn't the way to my house." I couldn't imagine what Mike was up to.

"That's very observant Esme, no it's not." He glanced over at me briefly. "Jess has the guest bedroom all ready for you. When I pick up the girls from school this afternoon, we'll swing by your place and grab a few things for you."

"Mike, this is unnecessary." I protested.

"Maybe . . . maybe not, all I know is Jess wants it this way, and I want Jess happy." He glanced at me again and then added, "And you know what we say at my house . . ."

"If Jess ain't happy ain't nobody happy," we repeated in unison and then we both burst out laughing.

__________________________________________________

**Carlisle**

I went for a late lunch around one o'clock, but instead of heading to the cafeteria, I sought out the solitude of my car. I unlocked the door of my black Mercedes, climbed inside and shut the door, effectively blocking out the world. Believe it or not, I often did this especially on hard days, and today was the worst. It would have been bad enough just being our wedding anniversary, but today would have marked our nineteenth year as husband and wife. I missed Rebecca so incredibly much, if I closed my eyes I could still make out every detail of her lovely face.

I felt hot tears sting my eyes and trace their way down my cheeks as I began to sob. I didn't often allow myself the luxury of tears, the boys needed my strength. Today was different though, not only did it hold special significance for us as a couple, but today . . . I had disgraced myself and dishonored Rebecca's memory. The guilt I felt was earth crushing.

I don't know how long I had been crying, but suddenly my cell phone rang. Edward had an odd sense of humor, he thought it would be funny to give all our close friends and family members individual ringtones based on their personalities. The theme music from _The Godfather_ filled my car and I knew it was Aro. It would have been a more fitting sound to alert me of a call from my bookie or my loan shark if I had such associates, but not for my best friend. Reluctantly I picked up the line.

"When you did not call at midday I assumed you were caught up with a patient," Aro began in his most fatherly tone. Suddenly his ringtone seemed very poignant. "When you did not call by one o'clock, I began to worry. When you did not call by one thirty I decided to take matters into my own hands." He paused and then added, "Was I justified in doing this?"

I was caught a little off guard. "I'm fine Aro," my voice sounded hors and nasally and I sniffled twice. "Has anyone ever told you, you're too overprotective?"

"This from the man with tears in his voice," Aro retorted. "I am very overprotective of my dear ones, this is true, and I have no apologies about this." Without skipping a beat or giving me a chance to say anything he added. "How long have you been crying?"

I kept a stash of fast food napkins in the center console, after cleaning my face with one of these I answered. "About half an hour I suppose."

"Tell me again, why you did not simply take a personal day." The more annoyed, worried, or excited Aro got the heavier his Tuscan accent became. "For the past three years you have done so on your wedding anniversary, yet this tear you decide to work. Grady Hospital could do without you for a day, trust me."

He had a point, but I had my reasons. "Aro, I can keep hiding in my little emotional closet every September, waiting for this day. I'll end up a grey hair old man still taking a personal day."

"And this is a problem, how?" He asked sternly. "You realize that even after eighteen years I still take a personal day every July seventeenth? I still cry every December with the first Christmas song I hear on the radio, especially that one, what it is called again . . . _Mary Did You Know_."

The mention of Christmas song brought a slight crack to Aro's voice. I took a deep breath; my best friend was also well acquainted with grief. Eighteen years ago he and his wife lost their three year old son, Thomas. July seventeenth was his birthday and, no matter what, Aro always took that day off.

"Maybe you're right," I sighed in resignation. "I've had an awful day so far anyway."

"Did you lose a patient; do you want to talk about it?" The crack in his voice was gone, replaced with warmth and strength.

"No, I didn't lose a patient," I answered; my thoughts were everywhere and it felt like such an effort to form words. It took several minutes to pull my mind together, but when I did, I went on to tell him all about my encounter with Esme Platt. I told him about how the sight of her and the sound of her voice made me feel, and about how racked with guilt I was over those feelings. "I dishonored Rebecca's memory, Aro, and on our anniversary no less."

"I have several opinions on this matter, most of which I intend to keep to myself for the moment." There was an odd quality to Aro's voice that I had never heard before. "But, I will give you some advice; for God's sake, Carlisle, take the rest of the day off, this is as much for your patient's safety as it is for your sanity. While you are there in body, your mind is elsewhere.

"If I call the nurse's station in the ER in an hour and find your still at the hospital, I am going to call Dr. Falcón and have him send you home . . . for the rest of the week. Do not fool yourself into thinking I am bluffing. My good friend, Caius, still owes me. "

Dr. Caius Falcón was my Chief of Staff, a fellow Mason from Aro's lodge as well as one of his longtime personal friends. He meant what he said, if I wasn't gone in an hour, he would call my boss and have me put on a one week furlough.

"Aro," I tried to protest but he wasn't hearing it. He was the closest thing I had to a father in this world and he was using the full force of the honorary position to call me into account.

"Do not _'Aro'_ me, Carlisle Cullen," He scolded lightly. "I have no problem calling in favors with friends when necessary."

"You have entirely too many friends, Aro Veracini, it's unnatural." I found myself chuckling.

"Nonsense, having friends is like having money . . . you can never have too much or too many of either." He sounded amused and very pleased with himself. "Tonight, after dinner, we will retire to my study and discuss this further. Then I will tell you what I think about your encounter with . . . Mrs. Platt."

There was something about the way he said her name that sent a tingle through me. Aro was up to something, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was.


	4. Chapter 4

Note: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!!

_Sorry, for the delay in posting on this one, I've been bussie with 'Little Deer'. This is a short chapter, I know, But when you read the last line . . . you'll know why. Sometimes as a writer, you have to know when to shut the *** up and let things pick up again in the next chapter._

* * *

Ch.4

**Esme**

I settled, with reluctance, into the guest room at Jessica and Mike's house. Jess made a huge fuss over me from the moment I arrived. One would think, from the way my best friend went on, that I was a complete invalided. I wasn't accustomed to such care, even as a child in my parent's house I was pretty much self-sufficient.

Before leaving to collect the girls and his own kids from school, Mike insisted that I give him my prescriptions from the hospital. I would have protested, but it wouldn' have done any good. Finally, with the house to ourselves for a while, Jess brought tea and sandwiches into the bedroom for the two of us.

"So, how was your harrowing morning adventure?" Jess asked as she poured my tea. "You know, Mike was beside himself when he couldn't reach you earlier. I swear, I thought he was going to call out the National Guard . . . or at least the State Police."

"To be honest, it was an experience I could have gone a life time without." I answered frankly. No sooner had I uttered those words then my thoughts turned to the dreamy Dr. Cullen and I felt my cheeks grow hot as I blushed.

"Hum," Jess appraised my odd reaction judiciously as she handed me the tea cup. "I'd say, given the flush in your face, that something about this morning has you hot and bothered. Spill it Esme."

"It's nothing really." I dismissed as I took a sip of the soothing tea.

Jess didn't say a word, she didn't have too . . . her glare spoke volumes. With a frustrated sigh I began. "There was this doctor . . ."

I didn't get to finish my sentence before Jess squealed with excitement. "Was he handsome . . . is he married?"

She'd been trying, without success to set me up with a man for years. In fact, the hand full of dates I'd been on since the divorce were all courtesy of Jessica Newton. I didn't balme her for her well meaning efforts, she had a happy marriage to Mike and there for no idea what kind if hell on earth an abusive one could be like. I had little intrest in going down that road again. Still I couldn't get my thoughts off Dr. Cullen for some reason. Even now, I found myself smiling . . . it was so unlike me.

"Handsome . . ." I trailed off in a questioning tone. My mind easily conjured images of the tall blond haired doc with sky blue eyes that had been the source of my distraction all morning. "Oh yes, defiantly handsome and very kind," I sighed like a love sick school girl.

Jess giggled. "Obviously you're smitten, but is the good doctor available?"

Suddenly I found myself trying to remember if I'd seen a ring on his left hand and couldn't recall noticing one. "I don't think he's married, I don't remember seeing a ring." The statuse of his availablity didn't realy matter much anyway, as I would likely never see him again. I found myself suddenly frowning at that thought.

"Maybe he doesn't ware one," Jess observed lightly. "You know, some men don't like to wear them these days."

"Oh no, Jess. If this man was some woman's husband, he would defiantly wear a ring." I muttering possessively. The strenght of my conviction suprised me, but what I said next shocked me. "In fact, if he was my husband I'd have the word _'married'_ and my name and address tattooed on his adorable little ass." No sooner had those words left my mouth than I found myself clamping my hand over my lips in shame. I'd never entertained such thoughts about a man before . . . not even my ex-husband.

While I found my unseemly thoughts and unladylike words appalling, Jess found them highly amusing. She nearly spilled her tea as she roared with laughter. "Does _Dr. Dream Boat_ have a name?" she asked when she could speak again.

I didn't want to answer, but I knew I had no choice. Jess would get the name out of me one way or another, so I decided to make things easy on myself. "Yes," I said with a tired sigh, "Dr. Carlisle Cullen."

*****

**Carlisle**

After leaving the hospital, I didn't go home. For some reason I couldn't face the idea of four walls and an empty house so I went driving instead. Eventually I found myself at Stone Mountain State Park, a few miles east of downtown Atlanta. It was a beautiful sunny day so I parked my car in the lot at the base of the hiking trail and contemplated going for a walk. I wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion in my silk tie, oxford shirt, and dress slacks, but at least I had a pair of sneakers in the trunk. After taking off my tie, rolling up my sleeves, and changing my shoes, I set off to walk up the mountain.

An hour and a half later I was sitting atop the most spectacular vantage point in Metro Atlanta. Rebecca and I often went hiking and camping with the boys in the mountains around our home in Forks. At one time I was quite the avid fly fisherman; I hadn't tied a fly or wet a hook since the day my wife died. Last summer the boys and Aro begged me to come along on a camping trip to Tennessee, I used work as an excuse to stay in town. Work, of course, wasn't the reason . . . I simply didn't wish to be reminded of older, happier times.

Today, however, the walk up the mountain was cathartic. I allowed a few of those old, happy memories to play through my mind, and for a change I smiled instead of crying. I gazed up into the vast expanse of azure that stretched from horizon to horizon and watched the thin wispy clouds dance across the downtown skyline. Rebecca would have loved it up here . . . and somehow, in this place, I felt a little closer to her than I had in years.

"I miss you, my love." I whispered as I looked down at my naked ring finger. I hadn't allowed myself to say those words out loud since the last time I visited her grave. "I'm sorry about today; I don't know what came over me. I've always been faithful as a husband and I've never felt . . ._ tempted_ the way I did this morning.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't sleep well anymore and the boys have to remind me to eat. I lose track of time and I forget where I'm going sometimes when I'm driving in the car. Honestly, Rebecca, I feel like I'm losing my mind."

The wind picked up and gently tousled my hair. _'You're lonely, sweetheart.'_ the soft whisper of her sweet voice ghosted through my mind.

It wasn't the first time my imagination had conjured Rebecca's voice to sooth my aching heart. Aro nearly had me committed when I first came to Atlanta because I had full conversations with her ghostly voice as if she were standing in the room with me. A trip to the asylum would have cost me my career, so I agreed to therapy instead . . . for all the good that it did me.

"Yes, I suppose I am." I answered in a low whisper, as I did I looked to see if anyone noticed. Just in case, I slipped on my Bluetooth earpiece. Let the world think I was talking on the phone I mused dryly. "But I still love you and I don't want you to think that I've forgotten you . . . that I would betray you."

'_Now why would I think that,'_ her voice asked with a hint of a giggle. _'You were always good to me and I know you loved me, but . . . you're not happy Carlisle, and that worries me. I want you to be happy.'_

"My love, how can I be happy?" I mumbled. "Half of my soul is missing . . . half of _me_ is missing. You completed me, Rebecca and now you're gone. I _function_ in this world, but I don't really live anymore. Without you, I have a pathetic sort of half-life, like a zombie or a vampire."

'_But it doesn't have to be that way, my sweet.'_ Concern filled her voice inside my head. It was so tender, I nearly started bawling again. _'Tell me Carlisle, if things had been the other way around, would you have wanted me to live in misery like this? Wouldn't you want me to move on . . . to find happiness again?'_

"Yes, of course, love, but that's different . . . you're a woman." The words tumbled casually from my mouth and I knew I'd made a mistake even as I said them. If there was one thing Rebecca hated about me, it was my well meaning yet archaically patronizing attitude towards women.

'_Remarkable, I not sure whether that's chivalrous or chauvinistic,'_ she grumped. _'At any rate, what I'm trying to say is . . . stop torturing yourself, it hurts me, deeply.'_ Then she paused and added in a more mischievous tone, _'Maybe instead of beating yourself up about this morning, you should consider it a 'sign' that you met Esme Platt on our anniversary. Just because I'm not there anymore doesn't mean_ _I've stopped looking out for you.'_

In that instant the sound of fluttering wings made me look up. A snow white dove flew over my head to land in one of the scruffy pine trees eking out an existence on the otherwise bald mountain top. I smiled as I watched the bird settle itself on the branch.

'_Angles are for real, Carlisle,'_ her voice whispered faintly as it receded into the depths of my mind. _'I'll always be yours.'_


	5. Chapter 5

**Note:** I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!!!

_This chapter is all Carlisle, enjoy! (Yes, the next one will be all Esme . . . Blue is an equal opertunity writer.)_

* * *

**Carlisle**

I stayed at the top of Stone Mountain for the rest of the afternoon, enjoying the weather, the breath taking view, and contemplating the meaning of my internal dialogue. Eventually the park rangers chased me down, but I promised myself I would return; soon and often. Three years of living in the city and this was my first trip to the top of the Big Rock, it was a travesty.

It was late now, and I barely had time to stop at my favorite little gourmet shop to pick up the promised bottle of wine before making my way to Aro's for dinner. I sent a text message to Edward, as I sat in the parking lot of _Angela's Kitchen_ _Creations_, to tell him to meet me at the Veracini house. Angela Webber was the only shop keeper in town who stocked a selection of wines imported from a small local vineyard in Volterra, a vineyard that just happened to belong to Suplicia's family . . . it had been theirs for centuries.

When I drove through the gates of the imposing Tuscan style villa in northern Gwinnet County, I found Edward's silver Volvo already parked in front of the house. My boys loved coming here; it was a second home to them . . . to us all really. They especially loved it on cavatini night.

I knocked on the door and Aro answered, greeting me in his customarily grand, if a bit unorthodox, style. He hugged me fiercely and kissed me once on each cheek before holding me out at arm's length so that he could inspect me. His sharp chocolate brown eyes missed very little when he apprised a body in this manor, it was like facing the final judgment before the throne of Heaven.

"Where have you been all afternoon?" He finally asked when he was satisfied with me. "I called the hospital and they said you left, I called your house and you were not at home. Finally I called your cell, and it went straight to voice mail." He narrowed his gaze, fixing me with a stair that only my father could have made more sever. "I do not like it when you make me worry, Carlisle, and . . ." he paused and took a very conspicuous deep breath, "Forgive my rudeness, but you smell. Did you not bathe before coming over?"

"I didn't have time," I told him as I handed him the bottle of wine. "I spent the day, well the afternoon really, at the top of Stone Mountain."

"It is a lovely spot, to be sure, with one of the most breath taking views in Atlanta." Aro commented as he led me through the foyer and into the living room. "But may I be so bold as to ask, why you spent the whole afternoon up there?"

"I wanted to be closer to . . . God." I quickly edited the end of my answer, inserting god in place of Rebecca. It wasn't a complete lie, I had prayed for direction and guidance while I was up there.

"To God," Aro repeated as he offered me a seat in front of the fireplace. "When I wish to be closer to God, I seek out His alter at St. Patrick's Cathedral . . . not the top of Stone Mountain." He regarded me skeptically, "You Anglicans are an odd lot, did you know that . . . good, but odd?"

Before I could answer, Sulpicia entered the room. "Carlisle," she purred in her matronly croon, "So good to have you over."

I stood as she approached and waited for her warm embrace. My own mother died when I was small, I hardly remembered her, but in Sulpicia I had found a willing and capable surrogate. She through her arms around me and pulled me in tightly. At only five foot two inches tall, the top of her head came just to the center of my chest. I couldn't resist kissing the crown of her head.

"Many blessings be unto you, Mother," I whispered in my best Italian into her soft dark hair.

Suddenly she pushed me backwards and scowled as she looked me over. "What have you been up to, you smell funny?"

"He's been at the top of Stone Mountain . . . talking to God." Aro supplied before I could give a more appropriate answer.

Suplicia's features twisted in to a thoughtful smirk. "Be that as it may, you cannot come to my table, Carlisle Cullen, smelling like a sweaty dog. I think you still have some of your things in the spare bedroom. Go up stairs, take a shower, and change."

"Yes, Mother," I replied obediently before trotting up the stairs.

*****

Dinner conversation at the Veracini table was both warm and rancorous. There was much discussion of school. Like me, Aro was a firm believer in the benefits of a sound education. His children, Alec and Jane were in their first year of high school and, though they were twins, the two of them couldn't be more different. Both children shared their parent's monolithic intelligence, but Jane was the studious one with an interest in becoming a lawyer one day while her brother Alec was less inclined towards academics and more sports oriented . . . swimming and track to be precise.

After a lengthy discussion about school, Aro and I entered into a heated yet friendly debate over the current health care reforms. We both agreed that something must be done, there were far too many families going bankrupt each year due to rising healthcare costs . . . and many, many more that were dying because they couldn't afford the care they so desperately need. What we disagree on was the way in which changes should be implemented. If two doctors who worked day-in-and -day-out in the trenches couldn't agree on how to fix the system, I wondered if there was any real hope that our Congressmen and Senators could come to a consensus.

Finally, Sulpicia and Jane cleared the remains of the meal from the table. The boys disappeared to the game room to play some new smash and destroy video game of Alec's. Aro and I retired up stairs to his private study. I took a seat and watched as my friend poured himself a glass of brandy. He didn't offer me any, he knew better than to do so; aside from the occasional glass of wine at dinner, I didn't drink. Before taking his seat behind his huge mahogany desk, he retrieved a cigar from the expensive humidor on the wet bar. Again, he didn't bother to offer me one, as I never smoked.

He took his seat causing the fine Corinthian leather of his desk chair to protest as he did so. He set his brandy snifter on the desk, looked at me, and shook his head. There was a certain amount of amusement as well as an ancient knowing, that danced in the depths of his dark brown eyes. Sometimes I felt as though Aro might be thousands of years old instead of being only forty nine.

"To be closer to God," he muttered absently and then paused to light his cigar. Like a good boy, I waited patiently for him to continue "Tell me, this sudden spirituality wouldn't have anything to do with your encounter with Mrs. Platt . . . would it?"

"You insisted that I take the rest of the day off, Aro," I replied in my own defense. "You didn't say where I should spend it. I simply didn't feel like going home."

I heard the deep inrush of air as Aro took a breath and reached for his snifter. He swirled the rich caramel colored liquid around in the glass several times before taking a conservative sip. While I could tell that he wasn't angry with me, I knew from his demeanor that this was going to be a very long evening.

"No, I did not," he finally answered. "But you must admit, my friend, that your behavior today has been very . . . out of character, even for you."

"To spend time deep in reflective contemplation is not 'out of character' for me." I crossed my arms as I said this and then, after remembering from my therapy sessions what that gesture meant, I quickly uncrossed them.

Aro chuckled and shook his head. "Would you please relax, Carlisle? You're acting like Alec when he's done something . . . _unfortunate_, for which I must discipline him."

I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be a child in the Veracini household that required disciplining by Aro. He was a very loving father who doted on his wife and children to a degree that some would call excessive. To have this imposing man coming down on you for something 'unfortunate', however, was a thought that made me shudder. While I knew him to be gentle and not in the least bit abusive, I also knew from talking with my boys that my friend believed whole heartedly in the adage, _"Spare the rod and spoil the child."_

"That's funny, because I feel as though I'm in quite a bit of hot water right now." I commented with a nervous little laugh ringing in the words. I also noted the faintest stirring of my long buried English accent. I'd lived in the US since I was six, and had worked hard to eradicate all traces of my foreign brogue. It only surfaced when I was really nervous or very, very angry.

Aro regarded me with one raised eyebrow as he took several puffs on his cigar. Undoubtedly he too, had noticed my little slip. "Why don't you tell me about her?" He finally asked, but it wasn't a question . . . it wasn't even a suggestion; it was a velvet shrouded demand.

"There isn't much to tell really," I dismissed. "I only spent about ten minutes with her, tops."

"Ten minutes that turned your world upside down." Aro retorted over the rim of his glass before taking another sip of brandy. "She must be quite a woman; I can't wait to meet her."

I shook my head, there was no 'her' to meet. "Aro," I sighed, "You presume too much."

"Really," he was ignoring me, I could tell by his tone. "Let me tell you something, Carlisle Cullen, _I _never _presume _anything." The without skipping a beat he went on with his interrogation. "Is she pretty . . . if she caused you to spent the entire afternoon on a mountain top talking to God like Moses, then she must be . . . celestial."

That was it, I couldn't stand it anymore. I stood to my feet and smiled politely, "I'm sorry to cut our evening short Aro, but I have an early shift in the morning."

I was just turning towards the door when he called my name in that strange, old world way of his. When I looked he was pointing to the chair I'd just been occupying.

"Sit." He commanded lightly through a wreath of grey-white cigar smoke. "I have something I wish to share with you."

I watched him suspiciously for several moments before returning to my chair.

"You've been around me long enough to know how I feel about Sulpicia. She is my world, the light of my existence . . . my one, true, and only love." He paused, and I nodded in acknowledgement of his words. "I respect you Carlisle, I have always said this. I do not think I could lose my beloved the way you lost Rebecca and not go insane. In fact, I would likely seek to end my life if such a tragedy were to befall me. I am not the strong man that you are, my friend."

I was going to dismiss his assessment of my courage, but before I could manage words Aro continued his soliloquy. "In spite of my deep devotion to my beloved, there have been times . . . when I have felt temptations seductive caress.

"As one of this city's premier Cardiologists, it has been my honor and privilege to treat all kind of patients in my practice and some of those . . . have been very beautiful women. The kind of women that make a man's pulse quicken, that cause him to breath hard or take his breath away entirely, the kind of women that throws a man into a cold sweat and makes him wish for an even colder shower. While I have never acted on any of these feelings, I assure you they _are_ quite natural. After all, I am a _married_ man, not a _dead_ man . . . unless, of course, I should ever falter in my resolve, and then Sulpicia will kill me.

"Do you follow where I'm going with this?"

I sighed as I watched him for the span of several heartbeats as he puffed away and sipped his brandy. He made temptation seem so inconsequential, as if it were nothing more than some nasty germ that could be taken care of with simply, yet thorough, hand washing.

"Yes, of course, you mean to say that to find an attractive woman . . . well, attractive is natural and normal." I answered in a rather automaton like way.

"Exactly," he replied. "It is not a reason for shame nor does it make you the betrayer of your sainted wife's memory . . . and, in _my_ case, it does not make me an adulterer . . . thank God." He paused for a moment to gage my reaction before going on. "Now, why don't you tell me more about the enchanting Mrs. Platt? Obviously she has struck a chord with you and I want to know everything about this divine creature that sings fire into my best friend's soul."

I found myself sighing again, "Aro, there's really nothing to tell . . . honestly."

"Is she married?" he asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"I didn't see a ring and she didn't list a husband as a person to contact in the case of an emergency."

"How old is she . . . I wouldn't want you robbing some poor mother's cradle?"

"Thirty nine," I snipped back.

"A good age, I approve," Aro's mood was improving as we moved through his list of questions, "Children?"

"Three pregnancies were listed on her chart." I provided clinically. "Three live births, all female, and none listed as deceased."

"Occupation," he asked next as he took another sip from his snifter. "Let us hope it is something . . . respectable."

"Uhm, her insurance information listed her employer as _Newton Architectural_ _Solutions LLC_."

"Secretary is respectable work for a woman," he commented, "it doesn't always pay very well, but it is good honest work none the less."

"How do you know she's not an Architect?" I asked smugly. Aro's old world patriarchal attitude towards women was worse than mine, at least I didn't automatically assume a female employee was a secretary or a maid.

"That is, of course, possible," he acquiesced reluctantly, "and in your case, perhaps it is preferable. You are a man who enjoys long evenings filled with weighty reading and stimulating conversation. A highly educated woman would defiantly be a pulse for you."

"Now see here, _Yente_," I was beginning to put together the pieces of where all Aro's questions were going. "Don't go playing the matchmaker with me . . . I have no interest in marriage, or long term relationships, or relationships in general for that matter."

"Of course not, old friend," Aro replied with an almost reptilian grin that made me think of the children's nursery song, _Never Smile at a Crocodile_. "I wouldn't dream of interfering with your happy bachelorhood."


	6. Chapter 6

**Note:** I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its chracters!!!

_As promised, all Esme._

* * *

**Esme**

I got off the elevator on the third floor of the Clifton Building. Before me were the double glass doors of the office where I'd worked since arriving in Atlanta; the name of the firm, _Newton Architectural_ _Solutions LLC,_ was tastefully etched into the thick glass. With a deep breath, I trudged forward on my crutches and shouldered the door open. Jessica had dropped me off on her way to a charity event at the CNN Building.

It was a miracle that I was even here today. Mike wanted me to take a lengthy sabbatical, until the cast came off and my physical therapy was over. According to Dr. Santiago, that whole process would take nearly six months.

"You can work from home." Mike suggested, knowing the long hours of inactivity were starting to wear on me. "I'll loan you all the equipment you need from the office and you can Skype the morning staff meetings and client consultations."

I was livid, "Mike, I need to come to work. If I stay home any longer, the four walls are going to drive me nuts . . . I swear, I'm going to go next door, borrow old man Clearwater's gun, and shoot myself."

"But Esme . . ." he began his protest, but I cut him off.

"Don't '_But Esme'_ me Mike Newton," I growled. "Jess was with me on my last visit to Dr. Santiago. Since I have a desk job, he said that it was fine if I went back to work . . . so long as I use my crutches, take the elevator, and I don't drive while taking my pain meds." I watched him rub the back of his neck as he tried to think of another excuse. "It's not a worker's comp case Mike, I wasn't hurt on the job . . . please, I really need this."

A few minutes later, he was surrendering and we moved on to negotiating the terms of my return. That was Saturday, today was Monday and it was good to be back to my life again. As I walked, or rather limped, through the office I got more than a few stairs. Most everyone expected me to be out until sometime in the summer.

I passed by Mallory Sweeny's desk on the way to my own and saw the instant deep frown cloud her face. Mallory was Mike's second cousin, a graduate of Georgia Tech, and the biggest brown nose in the office. She wanted my position in the worst possible way. While I didn't have a private office, a fancy gold name plate, or any other foofaraw, I was the firm's senior partner. Effectively, I was Mikes second in command . . . not because of my friendship with Jess mind you, but because I'd busted my chops to earn it.

I settled myself at my desk and began the process of weeding through all the accumulated stuff that a three week absence brings in its wake. Thankfully I had been able to check and answer my emails from home, else wise I would have been swamped in electronic trash for days.

By mid morning I had cleared a considerable portion of the junk from my desk. Poor Mr. Lewis, our janitor, was going to need a forklift to empty my trash can. I sighed as I tossed another scrap of paper onto the growing pile. I wasn't feeling especially productive, weeding through junk mail and outdated office memos, but I knew it was necessary.

A sharp throbbing pain in my left ankle reminded me it was time for my medicine. I picked up my purse and rummaged for the pill bottle. I ended up with two bottles in my hand, one containing Motrin the other a prescription for Vicoden that Dr. Santiago wrote for me. The pills the doctor gave me were stronger, but I was a big fan of _House_ _MD _and I knew just how easy it was to get hooked. I opened the Motrin, dumped four little brown pills into the palm of my hand, and downed them with water.

I was just opening my latest issue of _Architect Magazine _when I heard the sound of my boss's voice. I looked up and saw him headed my way, but he wasn't alone. Mike was walking beside another man and the two of them were deep in conversation.

The unknown gentleman was of medium height, well proportioned, with thick, bone straight black hair that hung down just below his shoulders. I could tell, even at this distance, that he was a man of means simply by the way he carried himself. His choice of elegant and tasteful adornments only served to accentuate this fact; a single gold ring graced his left hand and a gold chain with a monogram pendent dangled from his neck. He wore an expensive dark grey Italian suit with the easy of a second skin and a rich silk tie accented his attire adding just the right finishing touch. I surmised that he was one of three things, a lawyer, a doctor, or a crime boss.

When they neared my desk, their conversation dropped off and they both turned to face me. I reached for my crutches and tried, rather ungracefully, to scramble to my feet. The gentleman smiled politely and dismissed my efforts with an authoritative wave of his hand.

"No, no, my dear you are injured, please keep your seat," he told me. He had the most enchanting accent I'd ever heard. When he smiled at me I thought I would faint, only Dr. Cullen's smile made me feel giddier.

"Esme Platt," Mike's voice boomed, drawing my attention. "I'd like to introduce Dr. Aro Veracini. He's our new client, and his project is right up your ally."

"Dr. Veracini, it's a pleasure to meet you." I smiled as I offered him my hand to shake. Instead of shaking it however, he brought my hand to his lips and lightly kissed the back of my knuckles. A shiver traveled up my spine, I had no idea men still did that.

"Please," he said, still holding my hand, "It's just Aro."

For a moment, I forgot to breath and I could only smile and nod in answer. It took several seconds for me to catch myself before I could speak again.

"What sort of project?" I asked Mike, turning my eyes away from the distracting doctor.

"Dr. Veracini has an old carriage house on his property that he wishes to renovate." Mike informed me.

"My wife is an armature potter with aspirations of grandeur," Aro chirped happily, "I would do anything to ensure her happiness, and so I wish to convert the space into a studio for her with all the necessary equipment."

"Forgive me, but why not build and entirely new structure?" It seemed like a good question when I asked it, but the way the doctor regarded me made me feel silly for having mentioned it.

"I could, of course," He sighed. "But Sulpicia loves the old carriage house and the local historical society won't let me tear it down."

"I told the doctor that your specialty was renovating historic buildings." Mike jumped in enthusiastically, sometime he acted more like a used car salesman that an Architect and General Contractor. He grinned at me before turning to Dr. Veracini. "I've showed you her portfolio, she's a master at turning historic structures into usable modern spaces while maintain their character and charm. I'm sure that you and the historical society will be very pleased with her work."

"Please, Mr. Newton," the doctor dismissed, "this is not a midnight infomercial; you don't have to sell so hard." Then he turned back to me and smiled his strange dazzling smile. "Do you think you would be interested in my project young lady?"

He was asking me, not Mike . . . I was a bit taken aback. "Well . . . uhm . . . yes doctor, I think I would be very interested in your project. Do you have a blueprint of the original structure or some photos that I could take a look at?"

"No, unfortunately I do not," the doctor sighed sadly. "This project was a bit . . . well, spur of the moment. Our wedding anniversary is coming up in the spring and I thought this would make a nice gift." He paused with a frown and then suddenly his face lit with excitement. "Are you busy this weekend Mrs. Platt?"

I shook my head.

"Excellent," His eyes literally danced with joy, Dr. Veracini had the most expressive brown eyes I'd ever seen. In their velvety mocha depths one could read every emotion written on his soul. "Why don't you come out to the house on Saturday," he suggested happily and he fished a business card from his pocket and scribbled something on the back of it before handing it to me. "The address and my phone number in case you get lost. May I expect you around, ten thirty . . . eleven, if that is too early?"

"No, Dr. Vera . . ." the doctor's annoyed glare made my cut my words short as I remembered his very unusual introduction. I found myself blushing with embarrassment as I apologized, "Forgive me, Aro, ten thirty would be fine."

His instant smile soothed away the flush from my cheeks. "Very good, I'll be expecting you then."

*****

Thankfully the insurance company had provided a rental car after the accident. I sat in the front seat of the silver 2009 Ford Focus next to Rose. My daughter loved any excuse to drive, even if it meant getting up early on a Saturday morning. Just to make myself feel better for interfering with her day, I had her stop at McDonalds on the way to the interstate and I bought us breakfast.

When we pulled up to the address written on the back of the doctor's business card, we found the driveway blocked by an enormous and very imposing wrought iron gate. Rose put the car in park and for several minutes we just sat there gawking at the gate and the grounds beyond it. The place looked more suited for the Obama's than an Atlanta doctor.

"What did you say this guy does again?" Rose asked in an awed whisper.

"He's a Cardiologist," I answered in the same awed whisper, "a heart doctor."

But he wasn't just any heart doctor; he was the best in the city. While Map Questing the address, I did a little web research on the good doctor. He had one of the largest Cardiology practices in the southeast, the largest practice in Atlanta. He had nine other doctors working under him and three office locations. While he had admitting privileges at every major hospital in the city, Emory was his home base.

"Is he married?" Rose asked with that, _'this guy could be a great catch'_ look in her eye.

"The project is a gift for his wife." I told her plainly.

"Ever consider becoming a 'kept woman'?"

"Rosalie Evenson!" I snapped harshly. Her suggestion was appalling on a number of levels.

"Sorry, Mom," she apologized, "But it works for the _Desperate Housewives_."

"This is not Wisteria Lane, and I am most certainly not desperate." I informed her curtly before pointing at a speaker box on a pole near the gate. "Push the green button."

Rose rolled down the window and pushed to button. Moments later a disembodied voice crackled through the speaker.

"Yes, hello who is there?" I recognized the voice of Dr. Veracini instantly.

"Dr . . . I mean Aro, it's me."

"Ah, yes," He sighed over the speaker. "Mrs. Platt, you're right on time. Let me buzz you through, follow the drive to the house and then you may park anywhere."

Slowly the heavy iron gates swung open. Rose put the car back in drive before cautiously inching through. We followed the winding drive all the way to the house; it was like taking a tour of a miniature Callaway Gardens. The ground, however we no match for the house, I had expected a southern style mansion but was greeted instead by a very Mediterranean looking Tuscan villa.

We parked the car and made our way towards the front door, but even before we reached it, the door swung open and Dr. Veracini step out to welcome us.

"Good morning Mrs. Platt," He greeted warmly, taking my hand in his and kissing it as he had done the day we first meet. Then he turned to Rose with a questioning smile on his lips.

"Dr. Veracini, this is my eldest daughter Rosalie." I informed him proudly, and then I added, "I needed a driver."

"But of course my dear," he assured me and then he turned and bowed deeply to Rose, "It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance Miss Rosalie."

"It's just Rose," She corrected him in a gentler tone that I was used to hearing from her. She was minding her manors, just as I had requested.

"Nonsense," he dismissed as he lead us into the foyer. "Rose sounds so common, Rosalie is much prettier . . . I shall use it always."

Before Rose could protest, a short, slightly round woman turned the corner from the living room. She wore a lovely floral print dress over which she had a green apron. A smile turned up the corners of her mouth as her eyes met those of the doctor and they fell into each other's arms instantly. Never, in my life, had I seen a couple that looked more like they belonged together. A perfectly matched pair . . . a match made in heaven.

The doctor gave her a loving yet chastened kiss on the cheek and whispered something to her in Italian before turning to introduce us. "Mrs. Platt, Miss Rosalie, this is my wonderful wife Sulpicia."

With the formal introductions over, Sulpicia took Rose to the kitchen for tea and a snack while the doctor escorted me out through the back doors. Behind the house was a lovely back yard complete with a large deck for entertaining and an Olympic sized swimming pool.

"I am sorry; it's a bit of a walk." The doctor apologized. "I did not think of this when I made the suggestion. Please let me know if it is too much stress on your leg." He paused and then asked, "Who is treating you, by the way?"

"Dr. Marcus Santiago." I supplied. Aro burst into happy laughter, causing my face to redden. Fortunately his back was to me and he didn't see it. "Do you know him?"

"Ah yes, Marcus and I grew up I the same village in Italy . . . we are like brothers," he informed me as we reached a bend in the trail, when we rounded it a dilapidated building came into view. "If he is treating you, then you are in the best possible hands," he said this with so much conviction that no one could doubt the truth of his endorsement.

"This is the carriage house," he gestured towards the tumbled down structure, "I'm afraid you've got your work cut out for you . . . if you wish to change your mind, I would more than understand."

I appraised the exterior with a professional eye, it was going to be work, but it was defiantly doable. "No, I'm on board.' I told him and the watched as he unlocked the padlock and chain that secured the barn style double doors. "Can you give me some history; the architectural style of this building doesn't exactly match that of your home."

"That's very observant Mrs. Platt," he commented as he opened the doors. Dust and the musty smell of disuse wafted out to great us.

"Please, call me Esme." If he could insist that I use his first name then I could insist the same.

"Of course, Esme," he replied with a twisted sort of smile that made me wonder if he might be up to something. That thought vanished as he began relating the history of the carriage house. "This building, as well as the home that once occupied the property, was built in 1883 by the owner of a local steel mill. It was first sold by the original family in the mid 1930's and has changed hands several times since then. I bought the property eight years ago when I moved my family and my practice to Atlanta from Chicago."

"Why did you tear down the original house?" I couldn't imagine a reason he would do such a thing.

"I did not. I am a collector of rare antiquities Esme . . . not a destroyer of them." he replied in a soothing tone, obviously my expression mirrored the horror I felt at the thought of demolishing a fine old home just for the heck of it. "Two years before I purchased the property there was a natural gas explosion and fire that destroyed the home. It was beyond salvage and I had the wreckage cleared to build my current residence." He smiled then and his face lit up like fireworks against the night sky. "The home which I now live in, I had brought stone by stone all the way from my home village in Italy. The contractor took it apart, shipped it in special containers, and then reassembled it here. Did you know that it was once owned by the de'Medici family, a country villa away from the hustle and bustle of Florence?"

The doctor was very helpful as I began documenting the carriage house. He patiently watched as I made several sketches in my sketch book. He took measurements for me as I wrote them down and even climbed into the hayloft to take photos from that vantage point which I couldn't reach due to my injuries. All in all Aro was a kind host and an overall gentleman. An hour and a half later we were done.

"I should have some preliminary drawings and a proposal for phase one of the project ready in about two weeks." I told him as we made our way back towards the house.

"Excellent, I look forward to it."

"Aro," I began hesitantly, the question I was about to ask had been buzzing in my mind and turning my stomach in knots since he indicated that he knew Dr. Santiago. It was a stupid question really and I was about to show my ignorance by asking it, but I could no longer help myself.

"Yes my dear," he looked at me expectantly. I supposed I had paused to long.

"Well, I was just wondering," my mouth was dry and my heart was racing. "I know it's silly and all, I mean there are hundreds of doctors in Atlanta and you couldn't possibly know them all, but . . . well, would you happen to know Dr. Cullen?"

"Carlisle?" he asked happily, the smile he had been wearing since I arrived broadened to a wide grin and then expanded to become a chuckle. "Yes, I know him very well; he is a good friend of mine . . . like a son to me really. How do you know him?"

"Well, I don't really _know_ him," I admitted shyly, dropping my gaze to my hands. "He treated me in the emergency room and I didn't get an opportunity to properly thank him for his compassionate care. He was very kind, and well . . . I really appreciated it."

I looked up from fiddling with my hand and suddenly my eyes locked with Aro's. I wanted to look away as the intensity of his gaze made me uncomfortable, but I found I couldn't. His soft mocha eyes drilled deep into me and I felt as though he was reading every part of me, every though and memory I had ever had. When he finally released me from his stair I was breathing hard and I felt wobbly. I nearly fell when I took a step, but Aro caught me by the elbow and steadied.

"You need to eat something," he informed me. "Why don't you and your lovely daughter join Sulpicia and me for lunch?" I was about to make some excuse for us to be on our way, but he added in a soft yet authoritative tone, "No is not an answer that I will accept, I insist."

* * *

Yes, Aro is up to something . . . He he he!! I wounder if it will work out?

And speaking of Aro, I'm glad you guys are enjoying his charecter in this story. I'm certinaly enjoying writing him . . . he's actually quite charming and whitty once you get to know him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Note: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!!!**

_So I know you guys are getting anxious to see Carlisle and Esme meet again, and it's going to happen soon I promiss. I'm one of those story tellers who likes to take her time building things, so please, just bear with me. Its a delicate balance for me sometimes . . . to find just right mix of pacing and the shear joy of telling a good yarn, but the journey is often just as important as reaching the final the destination._

_Enjoy chapter 7!!_

* * *

**Esme**

Mike and Jess both arrived at my house around seven in the morning, but in separate vehicles. Jessica came in her Honda van to pick up the girls to ferry them to school while Mike pulled up in his beloved truck to collect me and my presentation material for the Veracini Project.

For the past two weeks I poured my heart and soul into this project. I stayed up late doing research on the internet, completed mountains of sketches and renderings, arrange an animated AutoCAD presentation, and built a cut away scale model of the finished carriage house studio. I pulled out all the stops and worked harder on this than I had on any other project in years. I felt like I was back in grad school again.

As I rode up the elevator with Mike, I realized just how nervous I was. Suddenly I was nauseous and the tiny space felt like an airtight cage. When the door slid open I burst from the elevator gasping for breath and my world was spinning. I would have tumbled to the floor except that a pair of sure and steady hand caught me and guided me to a chair in the office waiting area. When I looked up to see who had rescued me from a very embarrassing moment, I found myself staring into the mocha eye of Aro Veracini.

"You're early," I stammered between ragged breaths.

"A very good thing for you that I was," he replied kindly as his cool alabaster fingers found the pulse point on my wrist. I was so flushed that his touch felt almost icy on my hot clammy skin. "Your heat is racing like a jack rabbit and your blood pressure, if I were to take it, is likely through the roof; you're pale, and slightly green around the gills," he assessed me condition with practiced skill honed of years in his profession. "Put your head between your knees and take some deep breaths," he instructed me gently before addressing the room at large. "Could someone get the young lady some water, please?"

"How did you know she was going to fall out like that?" Mike asked as he handed a bottle of water to the doctor. I could hear the fear in his voice; it was very uncharacteristic of him.

"Experience, Mr. Newton," Aro answered as his hand rubbed soothing circles between my shoulder blades. "I've seen that look on the faces of countless patients over the years, and I know exactly what it means."

"Should I call the paramedics?" Mike still sounded concerned; did I really look that bad?

"No, there is no cause for alarm; she likely became overwrought because of stress. As soon as she calms down, she should be fine." Then he addressed me in a softer tone, "Feeling any better, my dear?"

I nodded and he helped me to sit up and offered me the water. I took several sips as Aro watched me like a hawk. By the time I had finished half the bottle, I was feeling calmer and the doctor allowed me to get up and hobble my way to the conference room. While I was recovering, Mike went ahead and set up my presentation.

Aro settled me into a chair at the huge conference table and then crossed the room to where the model and drawing were on display. His hand ghosted reverently over the model and he admired the water color renderings with an awed sigh.

"When can you begin?" He asked as he turned to face Mike and me at the table.

"Don't you want to see the rest of the presentation and read the proposal?" I asked, feeling a bit disappointed, after all I'd put so much into preparing for this moment.

"I don't really need to see or hear anymore," he replied as he took a seat. "But if it makes you happy Esme, then by all means . . . please proceed."

With a smile I stood to my feet and started the AutoCAD animation while Mike handed the doctor my printed and bound proposal. When I finished my thirty minute presentation, Aro applauded enthusiastically.

"Very impressive, you're quite talented," He praised me with glee before turning to Mike, "If you're not very careful Mr. Newton, one of your competitors is going to steal that young woman right out from under you."

"Oh, I don't think so Dr. Veracini, Esme is my senior partner."Mike said proudly. "I wanted to put her name on the doors . . . _Newton and Platt_, but she refused."

"Humility as well as talent, a rare combination these days," Aro mused under his breath, and then looked up to address me with his signature smile, "I'm liking you more and more by the day, my dear." Then he paused and his expression became more business like. "As I said, how soon can you get started?"

"If I can pressure the city permit board into giving us the green light, I can have supplies delivered by next week Friday and a work crew on site by the following Tuesday . . . is that too soon Dr. Veracini?" Mike asked hopefully.

"No, that's perfect," Aro commented as he stroked his chin thoughtfully. "In fact, I think I can facilitate matters. I was planning to host a ground breaking party to celebrate the renovations . . . If you and Esme were to come with you presentation material and I invited a few people from the historical society and the city, maybe we could . . . how do you say, grease the wheels of progress a bit."

"When would you be throwing this gala event?" I asked, thinking about all the time I'd robbed from my girls over the past two weeks. I wanted to make up for it, but I also wanted to get this project rolling.

"I was thinking . . . this Saturday around seven in the evening."

"Excellent," Mike agreed. "We'll be there, won't we Esme?"

I didn't say anything but my frown spoke for me.

"Why don't you bring your girls along, my dear," It was as if Aro could read my thoughts with the ease of a gypsy fortune teller. "Alec and Jane can entertain them in the game room; they so rarely have company their own age at these events. I'm sure they'll enjoy it."

With a nod from me, the matter was settled.

*****

**Carlisle**

I sighed with disinterest as I watched Aro prepare to tee off on the ninth hole. Truthfully I hated golf with an intensity I reserved for few other things. My father however, as an Anglican minister was an avid player and he insisted that I learn. The Cullen family first arrived in London sometime in the 1640's, prior to that we were a Scottish clan. My father always felt that by playing the game, he was somehow honoring his distant heritage. I had no such romantic notions.

My best friend also adored the sport and he forced me to play a round with him at least once or twice a month, weather permitting. This had been going on since we first met back in Chicago when I was an intern. I did my Cardiology rotation under Aro, who at the time had just inherited his father's practice. He begged me to join him, once the hellish years of my training were over, insisting that I had promises as a Cardiologist. Unfortunately I had to turn him down because I already knew where my interests lay . . . Emergency Medicine. We remained very good friends, in spite of my turning him down, and he supported me whole heartedly in all my endeavors.

I watched Aro square his shoulders and line up his club with the ball before raising his head to eye the distant expanse of green grass beyond the tee box. He had excellent form; my father would say . . . far better than mine. Perhaps I wouldn't hate the game so much if I weren't such a disaster at it. Aro's philosophy was that I wouldn't be such a disaster at it if I would play more.

I shook my head silently as Aro swung his club sending his ball sailing with effortless grace down the fairway. I would be lucky to hit the ball without excavating a large chunk of turf in the process. Sometime I felt as though I'd be more at home with a garden hoe in my hands than a golf club.

"Ah," Aro sighed with satisfaction at his shot. "Beautiful shot, don't you think?"

"Your shots are _always_ beautiful." I commented dryly as I stepped up to place my ball on the tee. "Next to me, you look like Tiger Woods."

"Haven't you figured it out yet Carlisle," He replied with a certain smugness in his voice, "That's why I play with you . . . to stroke my ego. When I play with Caius and Marcus they make me look like an armature."

"I'm hurt," I snapped back. "I thought you played with me because you enjoyed the pleasure of my company."

"That too," he chuckled as he watched me. "And the fact that when you lose, which you inevitable do, you get to buy the refreshment in the clubhouse afterwards."

"That's not fair you know," I replied before raising my club and smacking the ball in front of me. Its flight had a beautiful ark but I neglected to account for the light breeze and I watched in land in the tree line instead of on the fairway where I intended. "You make more money that I do, you should buy the refreshments."

"Come join my practice," he answered casually. "You know the offer remains open."

I didn't say anything, instead I just gave him _the look_ . . . the same forlorn one I'd been giving him for years when he twisted my arm on this subject. He knew how I felt about my work, I loved what I did and I knew without a doubt that it was my calling in life. His smile suddenly vanished and his face became serious.

"I'm sorry my friend," he apologized. "I meant no disrespect. You are one of the most gifted ER doctors I've ever meet. If I or a member of my family was in an accident and our lives were hanging in the balance, it is you that I would want as an attending physician."

I always knew he felt this way, but to hear the words spoken to me was humbling. "Thank you." I whispered.

We strolled down the fairway to where our respective shots had landed. As we did I could sense there was something more Aro wished to say to me, but for some reason he was holding back. A part of me wanted to insist that he spill it but I respected my friend too much to pry. He seemed more cheerful after taking his next shot and landing it squarely on the green. Given my luck, the sand trap was the likely destination of my next shot.

"I have a proposition for you," he offered with a smile that suddenly made me suspicious. "I'll buy the refreshment after our round this afternoon if you will do a small kindness for me."

My suspicion was growing, "What sort of kindness?" Aro didn't beg favors lightly as he never liked being indebted to anyone.

He laughed at my hesitant reaction, "You look at me as though you think I might ask you to commit murder on my behalf." He paused and then added casually, "I would never ask such a thing of you, my kind hearted friend . . . I have others who attend to my more _unpleasant_ business."

I nearly choked. I always knew Aro had a darker side, but this was . . . mind boggling.

"I'm throwing a party this Saturday evening," he continued in his casual tone, "to celebrate the ground breaking on the renovation of the carriage house. It is a project meant as a gift to Sulpicia. I would very much appreciate it if you and the boys would attend."

I sighed with relief, "Of course Aro, we would be delighted."

The image of the crocodile danced in my head once more along with the words, _'don't be taken in by his welcome grin, he's imagining how well you'd fit within his skin.'_ I shrugged off the odd feeling of suspicion and took my shot, as expected it landed in the bunker. _Predictable_, I sighed to myself as we trudged toward the waiting green.

* * *

So, I went to see New Moon yesterday and I really liked it. No movie can ever top the book it was based on, but the screen writer did an outstsnding job this time. I hope the third installment measures up to this one, can't wait till June to find out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Note: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or it's characters!!!**

_So I know I left you guy kind of hanging, but life sometimes gets in the way. That and the fact I never know exactly which station Blueroan mental TV wile be tuned to at any given time. Thank God my brain has only the three statoins (stories that I'm working on) to chose from, if I ever go cable up there I think I'd go nuts._

_This chapter is from Aro's POV and it sort of recaps thing. I wrote it without really intending to post it, but here it is . . . Enjoy!!!_

_Oh yeah, it's short too ;-)_

**Chapter 8**

**Aro**

I sat at my desk going over the final guest list for Saturday night's party. In spite of the short notice, everyone of importance had agreed to come. The Chairman of the Historical Society and four of the societies top ranking members, three City Council members and two members of the City Planning Commission. I would have had the Mayor as well, but his wife was due to deliver their second child any day and he declined for this reason. To round out the gathering, a number of my close friends including Marcus and Caius would be in attendance.

I reclined in my leather desk chair, swirled the snifter in my hands a few times and then took a sip. Needless to say I was pleased with myself. Because, you see, even if all the other guests had refused to come or canceled at the last minute, the two guests of honor would be there come hell or high water. They were the real reason I was throwing this party in the first place and I was prepared to use every tool at my disposal to ensure that they were here.

I gently put the snifter down and picked up the thick dossier from the corner of my desk, and resumed reading it. Felix was a very thorough investigator, but then again that was why I paid him good money . . . that and the fact that he was also very discreet.

After the night in my office, when Carlisle and I discussed the enchanting Mrs. Platt, I was determined to learn as much about her as I could. Ordinarily I tried not to interfere too much in Carlisle's life as I knew him to be a very private man, but some things were unavoidable . . . if you were a true friend that is. To that end I had Felix do a complete background check on her, off the official record of course.

My last such major unavoidable intervention in Carlisle's life had taken place within his first month in Atlanta. That first horrible night in my house, he woke screaming with nightmares in the middle of the night. This continued every night until I took to slipping mild sedatives into his nightly chamomile tea.

It was an easy fix and I thought that I had solved the worst of his problems until I came home early from the office one afternoon. Sulpicia was pacing the living room, a nervous wreck. When I asked what the matter was, she pointed to the patio doors and began to sob. With great trepidation I approached the double French doors. There on the patio I found Carlisle engrossed in a very animated one sided conversation with the thin air. I cracked the door a bit and eavesdropped for several minutes. To my horror, he was having a conversation with Rebecca, his deceased wife; as if she were right there . . . he even paused to listen to her nonexistent answers and entertain her imaginary question.

Two days later I had him in my office. It was a Sunday morning and I had gone to early morning mass so that we could have ampel time to talk . . . all day if necessary. In the end I confronted him with his odd behavior and not surprisingly he was defensive and in denial. As a last resort I showed him the committal papers I'd filled out earlier, they only required my signature, and I told him he could either get some help or I would sign them and call the Sheriff to come pick him up.

That was the first time I noticed the dead look in his sapphire eyes . . . the luster of life that had I seen in them in Chicago when his beloved still lived was gone. He was but a shell of the vibrant man I had once known. I was resolved; from that moment to do anything and everything within my power to resurrect the Carlisle Cullen I had met and became friends with . . . the real Carlisle Cullen.

The night we discussed his encounter with Esme Platt, in spite of his reluctant attitude about it, was the first time in three years that I saw a faint glimmer of life's fire in his eyes. Somehow this enchanting woman had managed, in ten minutes, to ignite my best friend's soul, a thing that had been cold and dead inside of him for far too long. I was overjoyed and I became determined, at that moment, to do all I could to feed and kindle this delicate fledgling fire between them.

But first I needed to know more about her, and to that end, I decided to renovate the carriage house. It was a project Sulpicia had been after me to do anyway. If Mrs. Platt turned out to be a secretary at Newton Archeticheral Solutions LLC, then I would have to talk to her before meeting Mr. Newton. If she turned out to be an Architect, I would request her to work on the project. I was fortunate that the later was the case.

From the moment I met her, I liked her. She was a true lady with a certain charm and grace about her. I could see why the encounter with her made such a profound impression on Carlisle . . . she was perfect for him. To my great joy I discovered, through the course of our conversations, that she had more than a passing interest in Carlisle too. Over lunch at my house she asked several pointed, if a bit shy, questions about him. I was elated, I couldn't have asked for better conditions with which to work.

On Saturday night they would both be coming to my house for the party. Neither of them knew the other was coming, though I thought I detected a faint note suspicion on Carlisle's part. It wasn't enough to worry over though; after all I had a reputation for mystery and eccentricity. He would likely dismiss his misgivings and show up without a second thought.

I closed the dossier, finished the last of my brandy, and headed off to bed. All would soon be right again in my best friend's world and that fact brought me a great deal of satisfaction.


	9. Chapter 9

**Note:** I do not own or have rights to Twilight or it's characters!!!

Long awaited and much anticipated ... well, almost!

Enjoy!!

Chapter 9

**Esme**

The tranquility of my dreamscape was shattered by the irritating screech of my alarm clock. I tried to ignore it but found myself unable too. Reluctantly I open one eye and found the blinking red numbers flashing 5:30 am. Five thirty in the morning on a Saturday, that was insanity; I never get up before eight thirty on Saturdays and never to the unpleasant whine of my week day alarm. Though I was quite sure I hadn't set it to go off this morning, I reached over and shut off the infernal noise, rolled over, and allowed my eyes to drift back shut.

I was just dozing off again when my cell phone rang; Alice's ring tone disrupted the serenity of my cozy dark bedroom. I groaned as I listened to the familiar musical clip, waiting for what seemed like an eternity for voice mail to pick up. I could have sworn I put my phone on vibrate before I went to bed. When the device finally went silent, I closed my eyes and melted back into my pillow.

It seemed like only a few seconds had passed since my phone rang. Now my bedroom door was being thrown open and the lights were switched on. I pulled the extra pillow over my head to block out the unwelcome brilliance. Was it too much to ask to be allowed to sleep in on a Saturday?

"Come on Mom, rise and shine" Alice's overly cheerful voice filtered through the pillow covering my head. "You have an appointment with the hair dresser at eight thirty, so get up and get a shower. Bella and Rose are in the kitchen making breakfast; you need to get a move on if you want to have time to eat before we head out."

I didn't move, I just laid there and groaned. The next thing I knew, a weight settled on the empty side of my queen sized bed and then Alice lifted up the corner of my pillow to peer at me with bright eyes and her signature megawatt smile. It was entirely too early in the morning to be that happy.

"There's coffee in the kitchen, it will make you feel better," she enticed. My girls knew me too well; coffee in the morning was my life's blood. I couldn't think straight before my first cup of the potent brown elixir.

"What would make me feel _a lot_ better, is going back to sleep," I corrected her from under my feather stuffed rock.

"Yes, but then you would miss your appointment with Maxine."

"I don't have an appointment with Maxine," I grumped. "And even if I did, I never go to the hair dresser before ten o'clock."

"I called Max on Thursday and made the appointment for this morning." she informed me as she went to my closet and began picking through my things. Before I could come up with a descent argument to make her stop, she had an entire ensemble laid out on the foot of my bed for me. It never failed to strike me as odd that I, a full grown thirty nine year old woman, was regularly dressed by my teenage daughter.

"Once Max is done working her magic on you," Alice continued as she rummaged through my shoe collection. "We'll head out to the mall and get you a divine outfit to ware to the party tonight. If we have time, we'll go by the nail salon and get you a manicure and pedicure too. But we have to be home by two o'clock; that's when Charity's mom is coming over to give you your massage."

I was flabbergasted; my day had just been hijacked by my seventeen year old daughter.

"Excuse me," I protested. "First of all, I don't recall asking you to be my event coordinator and secondly . . . I don't need to go shopping. I have plenty of outfits in my closet that are perfectly acceptable to wear to a private portfolio presentation; I'll wear one of them."

She glared at me with her bright green eyes, one eyebrow raised, and a _'let me tell you something' _expression twisting her mouth. In spite of this she was respectful when she spoke.

"Mom, I have been through your . . . _wardrobe_, with a fine tooth comb and believe me, it's pathetic." I watched as she walked to the foot of my bed and grabbed the covers. I knew what she was about to do, I used to do the same thing to her when she was little; I grabbed my end of the covers and held on tight.

"You're _not_ going to a private portfolio presentation; you're going to _a party _hosted by one of the wealthiest and most well known doctors in the southeast." Alice continued as she gave the covers a hard tug but I held fast to my end. She growled before proceeding with her lecture. "The party is being held at Dr. Veracini's home, a mansion on a sprawling track of land in one of Gwinnet County's most exclusive residential areas. His estate was last assessed at being worth _at least_ 2.5million dollars." She tugged at the covers again and groaned when I wouldn't let go. If the pillow wasn't still over my head she would have seen my broad grin. "There will be important people there, politicians, doctors, lawyers, and who know maybe even a celebrity or two. You _will not_ walk out of this house looking like a forlorn Cinderella with no fairy godmother to make you fabulous."

*******

**Carlisle**

"Well, what do you think?" I asked my sons.

I thought that I looked pretty sharp, but then again, with the exception of work and a few minor charity functions at the hospital I didn't really go out much. Aro's little party was the first serious social event I would be attending since my arrival here in Atlanta. In truth, if my best friend wasn't hosting this shindig, I would have declined attendance and spent my evening reading medical journals in my office.

"You're not going to Aro's party looking like that?" Edward sneered. He looked as if he'd smelled something utterly rancid.

I looked down at myself once more, trying to determine what was wrong with my attire. Blue oxford shirt, a respectable tie, khaki slacks, and my best brown dress shoes everything seemed in good order. I looked back up at my judges only to find continued disapproval in their eyes.

"Put on a lab coat and sling your stethoscope around your neck," Jasper replied to my questioning gaze, "And you'd look like you're ready for work; Dr. Cullen reporting for duty."

"Aro said dressy, but casual." I insisted. "This fits the definition."

The three of them burst into a fit of laughter, only my irritated growl silenced them. "Well, gentlemen, if you're so in tuned with the latest in GQ style, what do you suggest?"

They sat there appraising me, but no one said anything. To my surprise it was Emmett who finally spoke up . . . The same Emmett whose idea of dressing up was to put on a clean t-shirt and a pair of jeans that didn't sag three inches below the waist band of his boxers.

"Geek sheik," he said with a wave of his hand.

"Excuse me," I replied.

For some reason, in spite of having teens in my house, I failed to understand modern English. It took me over a year to figure out what 'lol' and 'idk' meant. Sometime I felt as though I should walk around with a dictionary in my pocket just to get by.

"You know that TV show, _The Mentalist_," Emmett began explaining his vision. "Well, the main character dude always wares suit pants and a matching vest over his dress oxford but no suit jacket . . . it looks kind of 1950's but modern and cool at the same time. Add an awesome tie and you've got Geek sheik."

"Oh God, it's an omen," Edward groaned. "The Mayan's were right," He went on playfully as he proceeded to punch Emmett in the arm. "The world is coming to an end . . . soon . . . because my idiot brother just had a brilliant idea."

After a bout of roughhousing that I had to raise my voice in order to break up, the three of them spent the next thirty minutes rummaging through my closet looking for stuff they could through together. I had to admit, there wasn't much in the way of raw material for them to work with; even for a guy I had an awful fashion sense and I really went shopping. Rebecca always kept me looking sharp. The thought of my beloved sent a fleeting jolt of pain through me.

When I stepped out of the bathroom the second time to face my judges, they nodded their approval. I, however, felt ridiculous attired as I was. My boys insisted on dark charcoal grey dress slacks and a matching silk vest; these they salvaged from my best Sunday morning church suit. I was surprised to find that they still fit; I hadn't been to Sunday service since moving to Atlanta.

To pair with this, they managed to find the only off colored oxford shirt in my closet; it was a pale periwinkle one that I didn't remember buying and hardly ever wore. This only demonstrated how deeply my boys had to dig in order to spruce the old man up; I kept that shirt in the very back of my closet. To round thing out, Jasper loaned me one of his 'cool' ties; a lavender and silver striped one that actually looked good with the shirt and vest.

"I assume by your bobble-headed nods that this is better?" I inquired.

I watched as their eyes traveled the length of me from head to toe once more. It was Edward who scowled again. "You're not seriously wearing those are you?"

He was pointing at my feet. I glanced down at my favorite brown dress loafers and frowned; it wasn't like I was wearing sneakers. "For Heaven's sake," I grumbled, "now what's wrong with my shoes?"

"They through off the entire look," Jasper groaned as he headed back to my pathetic little closet. When he emerged he wore a triumphant smile as he held up his prize and my personal fashion nightmare. "Now these," he nodded, "These would be fly with that look."

"Oh, yeah," Emmett exclaimed. "Defiantly fly!"

I was beside myself, "Honestly, gentlemen . . . I'll admit the 'look' you boys have created is quite dashing, but black and white wingtips . . . they're hideous."

"They're perfect," Edward chimed in; his crooked smile was in full force. Then he turned to Jasper and ordered in his best impersonation of Captain Picard, "Make it so, Number One."

Before I could protest further, Emmett practically tackled me, picked me up without effort, and deposited me on the foot of my own bed. No sooner had he put me down than Jasper was shucking off my beloved brown loafers, and before I knew it, I was shod in those ghastly wingtips. I was determined, as soon as this party was over, to burn those wretched things before my sons could find another occasion for me to wear them.

"Are you quite finished?!" I demanded when my sons finally stopped manhandling me. My level of irritation was more than evident as my English accent made a bold appearance. By the look in their eyes, I already knew the answer; more torture was imminent. What else could they possibly do to me, I wondered and then I instantly regretted the thought.

"A lid," Emmett suggested, to his brothers.

"Don't you think that's overkill," Edward insisted in my defense. God bless the boy, I would have to find some way to show my gratitude; I had no idea what a 'lid' was, but I was absolutely sure I didn't want or need one.

"No, I think Em's right; a lid would look great on Dad." Jasper insisted. "And I've got just the one."

Jasper disappeared only to return a few minutes later with . . . _the lid_. I let out a relieved sigh when I saw it; a sharp looking black fedora with a lavender and silver striped hat band that matched the tie I was wearing. Before I could say anything Jasper set the hat on my head and cocking it just so. Then he spun me around to face the full length mirror on my closet door.

I was stunned as I gazed at my reflection; I hardly recognized the handsome man that stared back at me. At first, I thought it couldn't be me at all, it had to be someone else, but mirrors don't lie. How long had it been since I'd actually dressed up, since I last took the time to care about my appearance. I knew the answer, of course, but it was too painful to think about.

"You look great, Dad," Edward whispered as he came to stand beside to me.

"Yeah, you look great," Jasper seconded the motion. He and Emmett soon joined Edward in standing next to me.

Emmett was the only one who remained silent, and this in spite of the fact that the wardrobe was his idea. I quickly took stock of myself to make sure nothing was out of place. Then I turned to my youngest. It was then that I noticed the glistening of moisture in the corner of his eyes.

"Son, is everything alright?" I was very concerned as Emmett rarely cried. Even when he hurt his knee playing football, he didn't so much as whimper or shed a single tear.

"Ever since Mom died," he sniffled as he wiped his eyes with one huge fist, "It felt like I lost my Dad too. Today, for the first time in four years, I feel like my Dad is finally back."

Instantly I had Emmett in my arms. As a father I never shied away from showing physical affection to my sons; I hugged them often and always made sure to tell them just how much they meant to me. This was something which my own father never did; I sorely longed for his love and encouragement when I was a lad and I vowed to learn better from his mistakes.

"I'm here son," I whispered into his dark wavy locks, "I'll always be here."

*****

**Esme**

I cascaded down the stairs with as much grace as I could muster considering I was still wearing an air cast on my left leg. In truth, I was tired. Alice had run me ragged all day; first to the hair dressers and then to the mall. We barely had time to grab lunch before rushing home in time for my massage. I would have to say that the golden hour I spent in the magical hands of Charity's mother was the glorious panicle of my day.

I was so relaxed by the time she finished with me that I wanted to sleep, but Alice was there to usher me upstairs. There I found Bella and Rose waiting for me in my bedroom; they had taken the liberty of drawing me a hot bath . . . a tub bath, not a shower. The lights were dimed in my postage stamp sized bathroom and a number of lit candles adorned the cramped space. The music of Mozart drifted from the small CD player and the heavenly aroma of jasmine and honeysuckle wafted up from the steamy water. I nearly cried as my girls helped me into the soothing bubble bath. Like a thirsty plant after a rejuvenating summer shower, I felt reborn as my girls helped me from the tub sometime later.

Now it was time to leave, the party would start in a little over an hour. Mike was already there, but he told me to take my time. Our host, Aro, insisted on this as well on account of my injuries. Dr. Veracini was the most gracious man I'd ever met; I was really starting to like him and I would be very sad when this project, and therefore our association, came to an end.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked as I reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Wow, Mom . . . you're stunning." Bella was the first to comment.

My daughters helped me pick out the outfit, with Alice firmly in charge of matters, of course. We found the dress at Macys, it was simple yet sophisticated. I instantly fell in love with the color; it was the most wondrous shade of lavender blue I'd ever seen. It was 'sexy' enough that I didn't look like an old frump but not so revealing as to make me feel like a tramp. Alice had a field day accessorizing me; shoes, at least for one foot, a new hand bag, and to round thing out, an elegant shoulder wrap to ward of the autumn chill.

They had assisted me in getting dress, but I insisted on doing the final touches myself. I selected some silver jewelry that belonged to my mother to ware as well as a pearl and blue diamond broach pin that had been my grandmothers to serve as a clasp to hold the wrap in place. This was the first time that they were seeing the total look.

"Awesome," Rose insisted. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world, Mom." That statement meant a lot to me coming from Rose.

"You're perfect," Alice squealed with delight. I couldn't remember ever seeing her this happy before. "This party is going to be sensational."

*****

**Carlisle**

We arrived at Aro's house a little early. The boys wanted to drive over separately in Edward's Volvo, but I insisted we all arrive together . . . with me firmly behind the wheel. I wasn't a complete idiot; this was Saturday night, date night, and cursing night. My oldest son had a bit of a bad boy reputation with the local constabulary as well as a constant and insatiable 'need for speed'. Edward was a youth on the edge; one more speeding ticket and his license would be revoked.

As I pulled into the yard, Alec was directing traffic. He smiled and wave at me before pointing to the place where I should park. I took note of the few cars belonging to guests that had already arrived. I recognized the classic lines of Marcus' slate grey BMW parked near the garage. Next to it was a bright red Audi R8 that belonged to my boss, Dr. Caius Falcón. There were a number of other vehicles in the drive as well, but the one that seemed most out of place was the immaculate midnight blue F-150 pick-up truck. No one in Aro's circle of friends drove trucks and I wondered who it belonged to.

The boys and I trooped towards the front door, I was in the lead of our little precision and they followed close behind. When I rang the door bell, I couldn't help but notice the muttered chatter that they were engaged in. In spite of their constant banter and roughhousing, my three sons were very close and I knew that they loved one another even though they would never admit that fact publicly. Still I couldn't help but feel as thought I was missing something. They were behaving as if they were guilty of something, I realized as I waited for Aro to answer the door, but I couldn't put my finger on what.

"Ah, Carlisle, welcome my friend," Aro's pleasant voice boomed as he opened the massive front door. "The evening air is chilly, please come in."

He stepped back politely to allow the four of us to enter. Once the door was shut, he greeted me as he always did; first hugging me and them holding me out at arm's length for inspection. This time, however, he did something very uncharacteristic. He took several steps back away from me and, beginning with my fedora crowned head; he allowed his judicious mocha eyes to slowly travel the length of me all the way to my wingtip clad feet. A slow satisfied smile spread across his lips and he began to nod approvingly.

"Outstanding," he muttered, but he wasn't talking to anyone other than himself. Then, to my dismay he turned his attention to Edward. "I could not have asked for better if I'd done the job myself. Thank you boys, you have wrought an amazing transformation in your father's appearance. It is exactly what I wanted."

It all made sense now as the pieces of today's events fell into place. My sons' guilty behavior and their insistence on my wardrobe had all been at Aro's direction. I had been utterly duped and that fact had me incensed.

"So now we have the truth," I grumbled. "You were behind this . . ." I stuttered as I gestured at me ridiculous attire. "This travesty," I finally managed.

"Of course," he dismissed in his usual casual manor. "And I don't know what you're so upset about, you look marvelous."

"You had no right Aro, I'm quite capable of dressing myself," I insisted and then added, "Without your interference. I hate it when you meddle."

"Is that so," he replied in his fatherly tone as a mask of supreme authority spread across his face. I suddenly felt as if I were no more than three inches tall. "If I had not _interfered_, you would likely have showed up to my party wearing your usual boarding blue oxford shirt, those horrible khaki pants and those loathsome brown loafers. That may be appropriate dress for working in a hospital emergency room, but not for showing up to parties in."

Now thoroughly chastised, I wanted nothing better than to crawl under the nearest rock for the rest of the evening. Aro was having none of that, he wrapped one arm around me and lead me toward the large living room where the other early guest were already mingling.

"Cheer up, my friend," he encouraged. "I would not bother to meddle in your life if I didn't care about you." He patted my back and went on, "You look fantastic! Now, put on that award winning smile of yours and have a good time."

******

**Esme**

The party was supposed to start at seven; we pulled into the yard at six fifty eight. I recognized Aro's son Alec directing traffic. Since my oldest daughter was driving, he waved us down and signaled Rose to roll down the driver's side window.

"Dad said to save the spot near the door for you," He pointed towards the place of honor. "So you won't have to go as far on your crutches."

How sweet, I thought as we pulled into our reserved space. The girls helped me out of the car and we started for the door. I noticed Mike's truck as we drove up; thankfully he and Jess brought over all the presentation material and had agreed to set things up for me. All I had to do was show up and wow everyone.

Rose knocked lightly on the front door and we were greeted moments later by our ever attentive host.

"Welcome, my dear," Aro crooned warmly as he ushered us into the house. "You look absolutely ravishing in that color; it brings out your lovely eyes."

"Thank you," heat flushed my cheeks as I replied, then to distract myself and calm my nerves I began my introductions. "Aro, this is my middle daughter, Alice. You have her to thank for the dress, she my fashion consultant."

"Miss Alice, you have my undying gratitude for making your mother look so radiant," He inclined his head as he spoke, "it is a pleasure to meet you."

"And this is Bella, my youngest."

"Miss . . . Bella? That wouldn't be an abbreviated form of Isabella, would it?" He asked as he took Bella's hand lightly between his. Bella hated being called Isabella, but she nodded anyway. "Such a shame," he sighed. "Why young people these days insist on decapitating perfectly beautiful names in favor of their shortened forms is beyond me. Your lovely sister Rosalie, whose name falls like poetry from the lips, wishes to be just plain Rose. And you, my dear child, Isabella; the name is as lovely as a Shakespearian sonnet and yet you prefer simply Bella."

"Well, Dr. Veracini," Bella spoke up, "if everyone else in the world said my name the way you do, I might be willing to use _Isabella _more often."

Aro's warm rich laughter filled the foyer and for the first time since driving up to the front gate, I relaxed. It was strange, but, in spite of its opulence and the formal occasion for which we were present, the doctor's grand mansion felt homier than ever before.

"Your daughters are as lovely and charming as their mother," Aro complemented smoothly as he raised the back of my hand to his lips. "Now come, let me introduce you. Everyone is dying to meet the brilliant and creative mind behind those drawings and models."

After instructing the girls on where to find the game room and the rest of the teenaged party guest, Aro escorted me into the grand living room where the guest mingled and my work was on display.

"Everything is ready for you," he insisted softly as he helped me down the three steps into the sunken space. "Your PowerPoint and AutoCAD will run on the plasma screen, Alec set up your boss's laptop and made sure that your presentation material ran correctly. Whenever you wish to begin, let me know, but fell free to mingle a bit first . . . it might help settle your nerves."

Was my nervousness that obvious, I wondered? "Thank you," I replied. "Why don't we start in about half an hour?"

"Have no fear, I will keep track of the time," he nodded. "In the interim, avail yourself of the refreshment and I believe you boss, Mr. Newton, is over in the corner talking to Dr. Santiago."

He left my side then and I watched in amazement as he fell easily back into the crowd of guest, stopping to chat with whomever he bumped into. Aro Veracini, was a natural born host, he seemed to be the life of the party while at the same time putting his less socially inclined guests at complete easy. After watching him melt into the mingling crowd, I decided it might be best if I did the same. I began making my way towards the buffet table to get a bottle of water; suddenly my mouth was as parched as the Arizona desert and I had to present in thirty minutes.

I was half way to my destination when the most melodious laughter rose over the din of the crowed. It was light, musical, and utterly enchanting. I stopped dead in my tracks and scanned the room; I had to find the source of that glorious sound. That's when I saw him and thankfully he was turned away from me or else he would have seen me blush. The mysterious and handsome Dr. Carlisle Cullen, the azure eyed god who had been ghosting through my thoughts and haunting my dreams, was standing just a few yards away chatting with several other guests. I froze, my racing heart leapt into my throat, and for a moment I felt as though the room was devoid of air.

"There you are," Mike's voice boomed from behind me, breaking the spell of the moment. "I was wondering when you would get here."

* * *

Yes, Blue is a wicked, wicked girl!! After a painfuly long wait I go and write you a cliffy ;P!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Note**_: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!!!_

Chapter 10

**Aro**

I left the enchanting Mrs. Platt and returned to my other guests. As I mingled with the crowd, I continued to keep a watchful eye on both her and Carlisle. Esme stood at the foot of the steps where I left her for a number of minutes as I resumed milling with my guests. She seemed unsure of what to do next. I was relieved when she finally regained enough of her composure to make her way towards the buffet table. This was in the general vicinity of where Carlisle was currently engaged in conversation with Councilman Thornton and his lovely wife. Unfortunately, if Esme continued on her present track, Carlisle would likely not see her, as his back was turned.

"Aro, the project designs are fantastic," I suddenly found Vladimir Gogoasa, the head of the Gwinnett County Historical society, blocking my view of Esme. I suppressed my irritation and put on an enthusiastic smile instead.

"I'm glad you approve Vladimir," I replied as I tried to manipulate our positions so the he was no longer blocking my line of sight. "Does that mean I can count on the Historical Societies blessing?"

"Possibly, I'll be able to give you a more definite answer after the presentation," I could hear his reluctance to fully commit; it was all political of course. "There are a few things that concern me, perhaps . . ."

I didn't hear the rest of his statement; instead the warm musical sound of Carlisle's laughter filled my ears. I couldn't see him or Esme as the crowd around me had thickened. I was now at the point of walking away in order to get a better view, but just as I was about to dismiss myself the crowd parted.

"Are you listening to me Aro?" Vladimir demanded in his politician's voice. "You seem rather distracted at the moment."

"Of course I'm listening," I insisted pleasantly. "You are still annoyed with me because, after I bought this property, I tore down the burned out remains of the original house instead of attempting to salvage and rebuild it."

"I have every right to be . . ."

Again I tuned out Vladimir's irritating chatter. I was not the only one to notice my best friend's melodious laugh. Esme heard it as well and she was frozen in her tracks not more than twelve feet away from the unsuspecting Carlisle. Her eyes were fixed on him, her reaction to his presence as palpable as a heartbeat.

"I'm sorry Vladimir, but I'm afraid that I need to make an urgent phone call," I lied with typically casual ease, "There is a matter at the hospital I need to check on."

I didn't give him an opportunity to reply as I excused myself from the company of my esteemed guest. I moved through the crowed until I found a better vantage point. Curiosity and the tension of the moment had me in knots. She was standing there, as immobile as a statue carved in living marble, her eyes reverently fixed on Carlisle's back. The expression on her face was a mixture of enraptured ecstasy and utter confusion. I held my breath as I waited for her to take that first tentative step towards destiny.

So focused was I, watching Esme gazing with unnatural intensity at Carlisle, that I did not notice my lodge brothers approaching from behind me until one of them spoke.

"Aro, what mischief are you up to?" The sudden boom of Caius' voice startled me and I jumped. "Who are you watching with such predatory interest?"

"It is no concern of yours," I dismissed angrily as I was more than a little embarrassed at having been startled. Caius was my friend and brother, but he had the most inopportune timing imaginable.

"Is Aro stalking someone again?" Marcus muttered as he joined us. "One of these days he's going to end up in jail for that, and I'm not bailing him out."

I ignored Marcus' comment and continued to watch the current drama. Esme was still enthralled; froze in her tracks and gazing with wide eyed wonder at the ever oblivious Carlisle. An irritated hiss escaped my lips.

"Is that Carlisle you're watching with such intensity?" Caius continued with his vexing chatter. "Damn, I hardly recognized him all dressed up like that. I don't believe I've ever seen him in anything other than those tired khaki pants and monotonous blue oxford . . . I didn't know he owned other clothes."

"That's silly Caius, of course the man owns other clothes," Marcus retorted. "I doubt very seriously that he sleeps in . . ."

"Silence, both of you," I growled cutting off the rest of Marcus' statement. "Honestly, you two are worse than a pair of gossiping old women." I sighed deeply and then frowned when I saw Mr. Newton walk up behind Esme startling her thus breaking the magic of the moment. The meeting between my grief bound Romeo and his bashful Juliet would have to wait.

"Why are you spying on Carlisle?" Caius insisted and I knew that I would have no peace until I told them everything.

After insisting on an oath of secrecy; I took several minutes to fill my brothers in on what I was up too. Marcus considered my plan with extreme thoughtfulness but made no comment. This wasn't at all surprising, my friend and fellow Volturi tended to keep his own council and only shared his wise opinions when directly asked for them. Caius, on the other hand, was another matter entirely.

"I'll keep your devious little secret, Aro," he sneered. "I'll even assist you if I can, but as an aside, I'd like to make this cloak and dagger affair a bit more interesting."

I had an idea of where this conversation was going, but I played the innocent anyway. "What did you have in mind?"

"A modest wager," Caius replied smugly. "You may be Carlisle's best friend and mentor, but I'm his boss. I see more of him every week than you do and I know for a fact that his melancholy over the death of his wife runs deeper than the Mariana Trench. I don't think anything is ever going to change his disposition. In fact, I don't think that even the divinely enchanting Mrs. Platt can shake him from his depression and free him from his self-imposed monastic habits. Two thousand dollars says that Esme Platt doesn't stand a chance with Carlisle."

"I don't think it's fair to wager that kind of money on the happenstances of a single encounter at a party, Caius." Marcus intoned. I was surprised when he spoke; he seemed aloof and had a faraway look in his eye throughout my exchange with Caius. I didn't think he was even paying attention.

"Of course," Caius gave in with a sigh. "What would you suggest as an appropriate time frame then?"

"Five months." Marcus insisted firmly.

"That's a bit liberal, don't you think?" Caius objected. "How about this, if Carlisle and Esme aren't romantically involved in . . . Oh, say two months I win and if they are, Aro wins."

"Make it three months and you have a bet." I had a very good feeling about this situation. In fact, I nearly insisted that I would have them engaged to be married in three months, but I decided not to push things.

After taking a minute or two to consider the terms of the wager Caius offered me his hand; we sealed or bet with a firm hand shake. Tomorrow I would transfer two thousand dollars to Marcus' bank account and Caius would do the same. He would hold the purse and disperse the funds to the winner in three months time. I was looking forward to spending Caius' money on something completely frivolous that would constantly remind him of his loss.

My lodge brothers returned to their hobnobbing, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I looked down at my watch; fifteen minutes remained until it was time for Esme to begin her presentation. It was just enough time for me to slip away unnoticed and return before having to introduce her. I made my way through the crowed and then dashed upstairs to my private office.

It had occurred to me as Caius and I sealed our bet, that many things could affect the outcome of this situation. Not the least of which was the unpredictable dynamics that might evolve between Carlisle's boys and Esme's daughters. I decided it might be a good idea to check up on them and see how thing were progressing.

It would have been an exercise in futility to pop into the game room for a visit. No, I had learned long ago that, to the teenaged mind, adults were akin to the police. Had I showed up, whatever natural interaction might be taking place would immediately cease. I had a better way.

I settled myself behind my desk and booted up my computer. The entire house, with the exception of the bathrooms and the master bedroom, was outfitted with discreet security cameras. These were monitored by my private security company 24 hours a day 7 days a week, but I had an extra future installed for myself. I could access the live feed from any camera in the house with my computer. I quickly logged into the system and brought up the feed from the game room. After turning up the volume, I settled back to watch.

The group had segregated itself along gender lines. Jane and Esme's daughters lounged on the sofa and love seat near the TV; deep in conversation about school and college prospects. Alec and Carlisle's boys were playing pool; they were engaged in their usual rancorous banter. I was disappointed to say the least, but this was only their first meeting. I was already planning to have Alec and Jane invite Esme and Carlisle's children over again soon for some contrived function or other; anything to get the two groups together.

I checked my watch again; I needed to be back downstairs in six minutes. As I was about to shut down my computer I noticed Isabella get up from the couch and approach the boys. I instantly liked this young lady when I meet her in the foyer. In spite of her reserved appearance, she possessed a fierce inner spirit. It was visible in her brown eyes and rang in her voice when she replied to my comment about her name. I was captivated and couldn't help but continue watching.

"Who's winning," she asked the boys.

"I am," Edward answered in his typical cocksure tone. "I always win when it comes to pool. I don't know why they still think they can hustle me . . . it never works."

"So, you're playing for money?" Rosalie now joined in on the conversation.

"There's no other way to play," Emmett answered.

"How much money," Alice skipped across the room to join her sisters.

"Why do you want to know darlin'?" Jasper inquired. "You thinkin' of placing a little bet of your own."

The three girls chuckled as they shared a knowing look between them. This was entirely too interesting to walk away from; I would make up some excuse for being late starting Esme's presentation.

"Maybe," Isabella began as she circled the table, inspecting the position of the billiard balls still in play. "How much is the pot?"

"More than you've got little girl." Edward grumped. "My daddy is a doctor, which means my allowance is a lot bigger than yours. Now go back to your girl talk so we can finish the game."

"Chicken shit," Isabella muttered as she strolled back towards the couch.

"What did you say?" Edward demanded.

"I called you chicken shit," she answered boldly. "That's what uncle Mike calls someone who puffs themselves up and tries to act like they're _all that_ even though they're not. You want to be a crowing rooster and rule the barnyard, but your nothing more than a squishy green pile of chicken shit."

A chorus of low moans could be heard from the other boys. Jasper hung his head and shook it slowly. I was more than a little concerned, Edward had a temper and I hoped he wouldn't do anything rash with my guest. I was fully prepared to rush down to the game room and break up any unfortunate mishap.

"The pot," Edward replied gruffly, "is two hundred and fifty dollars, that makes the minimum bet fifty bucks, but I'll let you in for whatever you have in your purse."

"That sounds good, but I have a better idea," Isabella wasn't the least bit intimidated by Edward. "All the money in your pot against whatever _my sisters and I_ have in our purses . . . and, you finish the game playing against Rose."

Impressive, I thought. Impressive and unfortunate, Edward was the best billiards player I had ever seen. The girls were about to be, as the Americans say, taken to the cleaners.

"Edward against her," Emmett sneered, "You're on little girl, and you're going _down_!"

Sadly, I was inclined to agree with Emmett's observation. I would have to find out from Alec how much the girls lost and devise some way to refund their money.

"One more thing," Rosalie said as she selected her pool cue from the rack on the wall, "My sister's name is Bella. When I'm finish kicking your ass and taking your money, you're never to call her _little girl_ again."

It was the ugliest massacre I had ever witnessed. Edward had been playing solids against Jasper's strips. Rosalie inherited a lost game as Jasper was seriously behind. To my amazement, however, after a series of well calculated and impressively pulled off shots Rosalie was now soundly trouncing Edward. When she sunk her last striped ball and then the eight ball for game, I couldn't help but smile.

"Where the hell did you learn to play pool like that?" Emmett asked, awe filling his voice.

"Uncle Mike taught me the basics of the game," Rosalie seemed friendlier as she answered. "But my last boyfriend, Royce, showed me what 'real pool' was all about; he used to clear eight hundred a night hustling. It was great, until Uncle Mike found out about his criminal record. He cornered Royce in an ally and threatened him with a shotgun; told him if he ever saw him nosing around me again . . . well I'm sure you get the picture."

I laughed so hard that tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I wasn't sure how Carlisle's boys would adjust to Esme's daughters, but I was absolutely enchanted by them.

Alice approached Jasper with her hand out and a satisfied grin on her lips, "Time to pay the pixie, sugar . . . no pennies please." When Jasper finished counting out Rosalie's winnings, Alice stuffed the wad of cash in her purse. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Slim."

"Why do I get the sneaking suspicion that this isn't the first time you three have pulled this little scam?" Edward inquired as he leaned in closer to Isabella.

"A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do," she shrugged in reply. "As you so blatantly pointed out, your allowance is bigger than ours, we have to make due on the salary of a single Mom."

"And like all girls," Alice chimed in, "we have needs. I really should thank you boys; you've just financed our next shopping trip."

"Hey, Baby Cakes," Emmett propped himself against the pool table near Rosalie, "Does your Mama know you go around hustling poor young men like us at pool."

"Do you like jewelry?" Rosalie asked in reply.

"I sure do, Baby."Emmett answered as he leered at Esme's attractive oldest daughter.

"Good," she stepped in so close to Emmett that he could likely smell what flavor lip gloss she was wearing and then she looked him straight in the eyes. "Because the next time you call me 'Baby'," she spoke in the smooth sultry tone of a true vixen, "you're going to be wearing this pool cue upside your head for the rest of your natural life."

If I didn't soon return to my guests, I would have to invent some major medical crisis at the hospital to explain my absence. Satisfied that chemistry of some sort was taking place between the children, I shut down my computer and headed back to the party. It wasn't exactly what I had hoped for, but at least they were talking. As with chemical imbalances in the human body which I could correct with proper treatment, so to could I correct the off balance interpersonal relations developing between these young ones. At least the ice had been broken, now if I could only do the same with their parents.


	11. Chapter 11

**Note: _I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!_**

_This post is going to make some of you happy. I ran it through spelling and grammer check, but I didn't have time to run it through Adobe and have it read back to me. In fact, I'm fixing to grab my books and run off to my Vertebrate Anatomy lecture. Catch you guys latter!_

_Enjoy!_

**Carlisle**

It was hard to believe and I hated to admit it, but I was actually enjoying myself. Aro's party represented my first true social event in over four years. Once I got over feeling ridicules for the way I was dressed, I put on my 'award winning smile' as my friend suggested and relaxed. I'd forgotten just how pleasant the company of others could be.

"Carlisle," the familiar voice of my employer cut through the murmur of the crowd. "I almost didn't recognize you."

I glanced left and found Caius sauntering towards me, his beautiful trophy wife Athenodora was proudly clinging to his arm. I could deal with my arrogant boss, but I detested his wife. She was stunningly beautiful, highly intelligent, and she came from a family with very old money. Those were her best qualities, but, as so often is the case, the pretty wrapper hides the ugly truth. Dora was a nasty little viper; ruthless, vengeful, and incapable of accepting 'no' as an answer to anything. She was exactly the kind of woman that, were I looking for female companionship, I would avoid like the plague.

"Caius," I inclined my head in greeting. "Dora," I attempted a pleasant smiled.

"You look _dazzling_, Carlisle," Dora insisted pleasantly, but I could read disgust and jealousy behind her hazel eyes.

"I'm glad you approve," I muttered, "You have my sons to thank for my fashion statement." My eyes were busily scanning the room as I spoke, seeking as exit strategy to get me away from Caius and his wife. If nothing presented itself in the next three minuets I would have to come up with a ruse on my own.

"Have you had an opportunity to look at the designs and models for Aro's project?" there was something odd about the tenor of my boss' voice as he asked that, and I felt a sudden tightening in my stomach.

"I have," I replied. "The design is well thought out, tasteful, and preserves the charm and character of the original structure." My answer seemed to shock Caius, but it shouldn't have. Much to the chagrin of my academic advisors at Boston College, while perusing my pre-med degree I minored in art.

"I agree, of course," Caius recovered. "And have you meet the architect responsible for those well thought out and tasteful designs?"

The feeling that Caius was up to something intensified, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. I dismissed the notion as I caught sight of Aro descending the stairs, perhaps he would save me.

"Yes," I answered absently. "I found Mr. Newton to be very knowledgeable. If I ever need an architect, I'll certainly give him a call."

It was rare to hear Dr. Caius Falcón actually laugh and the sound of his mirth startled me. For the first time since he and his wife sauntered up to me, I really took note of him. Both he and Dora were alight with amusement that was obviously at my expense. I suddenly found myself feeling like the human guest of honor at a cannibal convention. For a moment, I considered asking them what they found so funny, but I knew that they would only reply with polite dismissals.

I decided that I'd had enough of my boss and his wife, "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go look in on my boys." I left them and began weaving through the milling crowd. It was my intention to collect my sons and then delicately extract us from Aro's little gala; I'd had quite my fill of hobnobbing for one evening.

I was coming around the end of the buffet table, headed for the hall and Aro's game room when I caught sight of her; she wore her caramel hair swept up, exposing the graceful curve of her neck and she was attired in the most elegant yet stunning periwinkle dress I'd ever see. She was a vision of celestial glory and I was enraptured just looking at her. There, coming out of the downstairs guest bathroom with the the most attractive nervous blush on her cheeks, was the enchanting Mrs. Esme Platt. At the sight of her my throat tightened, my heart began to race, and my stomach tried it's best to do a cartwheel.

Like a panther just spotting an unsuspecting deer, I stopped dead in my tracks. She hadn't noticed me yet, and I wished it to remain that way. Her presence at the party seemed so random and I couldn't fathom what she was doing here. I couldn't remember hearing her name mentioned in any of Aro's social circles nor was I aware of her running with any of his jet-setting menagerie of friends.

I continued to watch her as I tried to place the connection. In the time that I stood there, Aro walked up to her and they began conversing. That's when it hit me; a forgotten snipped of a conversation concerning Miss Platt that took place over a month ago in his study.

"_Occupation," he asked next as he took another sip from his snifter. "Let us hope it is something . . . respectable."_

"_Uhm, her insurance information listed her employer as: Newton Architectural Solutions LLC."_

Newton was the name of the architect that I thought prepared the drawings and models, but It wasn't Mr. Newton's work at all . . . it was the work of Mrs. Platt. I was being played; this whole project to renovate the carriage house was one gigantic and overpriced ruse to get Esme and me together. The realization that my best friend and mentor was meddling again, and in a more intrusive manor that usual, had me livid.

I watched him lead poor unsuspecting Esme towards the table where her work was laid out. While I was furious with Aro, I couldn't help but feel sorry for this woman. She was in the presence of a maniacal master mind, the Machiavelli of manipulation, and she was completely unaware of it. It took a supreme effort on my behalf not to rush over to her like a modern day St. George and rescue this damsel in distress from the deceitful old dragon.

As Aro began his opening remarks and introductions, I drifted towards the back of the crowd. As soon as Esme's presentation was over and I could manage a private word with her, I would warn her about Aro's less than innocent intentions. After that, I planned to grab the boys and leave.

"Good evening everyone," her voice crackled over the sound system and I found it just as enrapturing as I had when she spoke in the ER. "Thank you all for coming out on such short notice . . ."

I closed my eyes and continued to listen; in spite of the hint of fear that rang in her voice, I found it as pleasant and refreshing as an ocean breeze. While I paid little attention to what she was actually saying, I fervently hoped that she would never stop speaking. I could listen to that voice forever.

A sudden rush of desire spared through me and, just like in the ER, I found myself torn between my now undeniable and growing attraction for Esme and feeling of guilt over memories of Rebecca. I felt my face grow flush and I knew that I needed some air, but I didn't wish to miss one moment of Esme's speech. I noticed that someone had opened the patio doors so I maneuvered my way in that direction and stepped out into the night air.

Oh, Becca," I whispered under my breath after I quickly scanned the patio to make sure I was alone. "What am I going to do; I feel like such a jerk. Esme stirs the passion in my blood and water's the parched place in my soul by just opening her mouth. I hardly know her; these feelings are completely inappropriate . . . what if she has a boyfriend for God's sake?

"And what about you; how do I justify . . ."

Just as I was about to launch into my argument concerning my undying love for Rebecca, I was startled by the sudden appearance of a snow white dove. It fluttered down from the inky shroud of the night to land on the patio railing. It proceeded to glare at me with one beady pink eye and it cooed softly. My chest began to ache and I found it hard to breathe as I watched the bird perched there preening its feathers.

"_You hardly knew me Carlisle, that is, until the day you crashed into me."_ Rebecca's voice mocked playfully. _"It was kismet you know; fate, the hand of God, call it what you want, but if you hadn't rounded that bookshelf when you did and knocked me to the ground . . . we never would have meet . . . I never would have found the one man destined to be my true mate."_

I wanted to cry now and it was all I could do to hold back the tears.

"_Oh stop that,"_ Becca chided. _"I was trying to illustrate a point, darling, not give you more emotional ammunition to shoot yourself with." _I heard her groan in my head and I could almost imagine her rolling her eyes in frustration. _"I was never meant to be yours forever," _she whispered and a new wave of pain stung my heart. _"Do you remember the day we went to the State Fair and that old gypsy woman read our palms?"_

I found myself chuckling,"Of course I remember, you insisted we should have our fortune told; it was silly but you were so adamant about it that I couldn't refuse you."I sighed and then added, "You were always the impulsive one."

"_I had to be, in order to counter balance you tendency towards repetitive patterns of predictability. Successful couples complement each other like that, each one being what the other is not."_

"I am not predictable!" I hissed. "I can be just as spontaneous as the next man."

Her giggling filled every available space within my skull. _"All I have to say to that is: Khaki pants and blue oxfords."_

I found myself groaning; what seemed to be the issue with my sensible wardrobe was a matter well beyond my comprehension.

"_That's not why I brought up the gypsy,"_ she continued, a slight hint of amusement still clung to her voice. _"Remember when she looked at our love lines; she said that I would have only one marriage and you would have two."_

"Yes," I quipped, "And for months afterwards, thanks to that hag, you were convinced that I was going to divorce you for another woman. Why you put so much stock into the ramblings of that old witch . . ."

"_Because I felt her power Carlisle,"_ Becca interrupted me gently. _"I can't explain it to you, I just felt it and I knew she was right . . . then when my cancer diagnoses came through; her prediction was all I could think about. I worried about you being all alone after I was gone, but knowing that there would another someone in your life to help ease your loneliness, made saying good-by just a little easier."_

"Becca, I . . ."

"_I know Carlisle, you still love me."_ Her voice was beginning to sound distant and I knew her visit was going to end soon. _"Honey, you're always going to love me . . . we are an inexorable part of one another. But it is said that love is a many splendored thing; the human heart has the capacity to love deeply and endlessly if we will only open ourselves up to others. Open up the gates of your heart, Carlisle, and let Esme in; give love another chance, my darling, for her sake and yours."_

Suddenly the dove vaulted from its perch to flutter off into the night, taking the voice of my beloved Rebecca with it. As it flew away a single feather drifted effortlessly to land on the patio decking at my feet. I bent forward, picked it up, and began playing with it; a token from my guardian angel.

"Was my presentation that awful?" The unexpected tinkling of Esme's voice nearly made me jump out of my skin. I turned to find her standing just beyond the patio doors; behind her and mingling with some of his gust, I saw Aro and I knew our exchange was being monitored.

"No, you presentation was wonderful," I replied as I took a seat at the wrought iron bistro table that served as a picnic table at my friends grand home. "I just needed some air."

"It is a bit stuffy in there," to my surprise, she joined me at the table, "too many people in one place."

I intended to keep our conversation brief; just the fact that we were having it under Aro's watchful eye irritated me. I refused to reward him further for his meddling.

"Yes well, I tend to avoid crowds."

"Oh," she looked down at her hands and I noticed a small frown pull the corners of her mouth down. The sight of it saddened me but it also made me concerned.

"Are you alright Mrs. Platt," I inquired, "is your leg bothering you?"

"Thank you for asking, but no my leg id fine," She insisted shyly. "Dr. Santiago is great; in fact, I ran into him earlier . . . he said he might have a project for me sometime in the near future."

"Marcus is the best in his field, that's why I routinely refer patients to him." Then I paused and added, "Congratulations on picking up a potential new client."

"Thank you again." She paused, dropped her gaze, and became fidgety.

From my limited experience with females, I knew this behavior usual indicated that they had something they wished to express. I took what I hoped came off as a relaxed posture and waited.

"The other day, in the ER, I never got the opportunity to thank you properly for your help," she finally managed after several minutes.

"There's no need to thank me for doing my job, Mrs. Platt," I dismissed. I was used to this sort of reaction; I got it all the time.

"Please, it's Esme," she insisted as she raised her head so that our eyes met. "And it was more than just you doing your job, Dr. Cullen. I felt cared for, I felt like I really mattered to you and not like I was just another poor unfortunate shmuck that got creamed by a delivery truck."

"Well, Esme . . . if I'm going to use your first name, then I insist that you use mine also; Carlisle." I flashed a reassuring smile, as her expression showed that she was a bit appalled at the notion of using such a casual address with me. "As to your observation; I treat all my patients as if they really matter to me . . . because they do. I care about each and every life that I touch through the practice of my profession." _Some more than others_, I mused, but I kept that thought to myself.

"I wish all of your colleagues felt that way," she grumped, "Dr. Ice Woman made me feel like I was an insignificant pain in the rear."

I found myself laughing in spite of trying not to. "You're not the first patient to say such things about Dr. Steel. In her defiance, however, she is a very competent physician and I would not have willingly entrusted your care to her if she wasn't."

I happened to glance towards the open patio doors at that moment and found Aro shamelessly spying on us; he wasn't even trying to hide his motives by mingling with his guests. A new wave of irritation washed through me and I barely managed to repress a low growl. While I would never say anything to him in front of his guests as I didn't wish to make a scene, in the next few day I had every intention of taking him aside and give him a piece of my mind. In spite of the fact that I was enjoying my delightful conversation with Esme, our time together was giving my friend far too much satisfaction . . . sadly, it was time to end this encounter.

"I hate to be so abrupt Esme, but I really must find my sons. I have an early shift tomorrow and I need to be getting home. It was a pleasure seeing you again." I stood up as I was speaking and she followed suit. "I wish you a continued speedy recovery, and every success with your current project." Then I dropped my voice and added my well intentioned warning, "Be mindful of Aro. He's a good man and I can assure you that he would never harm you, but his motivations are his own and it is always best to exercise caution when dealing with him." Then I smiled and bowed my head. "Good night, Esme."


	12. Chapter 12

**Note: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!**

_I was going to make this a mirror chapter to the last one, but told from Esme's POV. Then this little conversation between Jessica and Esme dance through my mind and I liked it better ... I hope you do too._

_Enjoy!_

**Esme:**

I sat on the edge of my bed in my pj's brushing the knots out of my hair. The pleasant rumble of laughter filtered up from the living room and I smiled. When the girls and I arrived home from Aro's party we found Jessica in the house. She'd let herself in during our absence and proceeded to cook Sunday dinner for us; _so you won't have to be up on that bum leg of yours tomorrow_, was her excuse. I suppose that's what happens when you give a friend like Jessica the key to your house and the alarm codes.

Mike showed up about forty-five minutes after we got home. While Jess helped me in the shower, he took it upon himself to consult Bella about her picks for tomorrow's football games. I would be more upset about him using my daughter to pick winning teams to wager on, if it weren't for the fact that Mike put aside a portion of any money he won due to Bella's gift into a collage fund for her. She was right seventy percent of the time, and her collage prospects were looking very good . . . if only she knew what she wanted to study.

There was a light knock at my door followed by Jess calling to me, "Can I _please_ come in; all this talk of football is making me nauseous. I need girl talk NOW!"

I couldn't help but laugh, "Sure, come in. This can be your '_no football sanctuary'_ for a while."

Jess entered the room and quickly found a seat next to me on the edge of the bed. "Here, let me do that," she insisted in her sisterly tone as she took the brush from my hand and busied herself with running it through my hair. "So, Mike says your presentation was a huge success."

"Yeah, you could say that we made the right people very happy," I replied in a satisfied chirp. "I think when we apply for our permits next week, we shouldn't have any problems."

"That's great, congrats. I know you put a lot of work into this and you deserve the success," she purred as the brush swooshed through my hair. "Now, stop it with all the office talk and tell me about the party . . . I would have gone myself you know, but Seth had a game and at least one of his parents needed to be there to support him."

"There isn't that much to tell," I shrugged. "It was your typical fancy shindig thrown by a wealthy doctor to impress people who matter."

"God, when did you become such a cynic, Esme?"

I shrugged again but didn't answer her.

"Ok, let's try a different approach," she sighed. I knew this interrogation wouldn't end until _special agent_ Jessica had every scrap of intelligence wrung out of me. "Aside from Dr. Moneybags de Medici and is insanely beautiful family, who else was there?"

"Well, let's see," I hummed thoughtfully. "A number of Aro's close friends and their spouses were in attendance, some very influential local Politician's . . . ooh, I got to meet the CEO of Gwinnett County's very own personal assistant; it was so exciting." I squealed with mock excitement before pausing, then added, "We heard that Obama was going to make a fashionably late appearance, but he called to cancel at the last minute; everyone was so disappointed."

That last comment earned me a rap on the head with my hair brush. "Don't get cheeky with me Esme Ann Platt," she chided as I rubbed the throbbing spot on the top of my head. "I didn't come all the way over here, let myself into your home, and cook my world famous pot roast with all the sides only to have you hold out on all the juicy gossip from Aro's party . . . now talk."

With a deep sigh I began the debriefing. I racked my brains for any detail that I thought Jess would be interested in; names of doctors that I met, the members of the city council and the zoning board, and the aforementioned personal assistant. I even through in the bit about Dr. Santiago wanting me to do some work for him sometime in the near future. All in all, I thought I gave a pretty good accounting . . . James Bond couldn't have done a better job.

"Now that you've finished with the prologue to your little story, let's jump right into chapter one." She tugged on my hair gently until I was looking up at the ceiling, then Jessica's face filled my field of view. "Did you meet any handsome, hunky, available guys; cause honestly honey . . . you ain't getten' any younger and I've just about had it with trying to set you up. When it comes to men, you're more finicky then Morris the Cat."

So that was what she wanted, the low down on any romantic encounters I might have had. I suddenly thought about my conversation with Dr. Cullen and frowned; I'd been so excited when I first noticed him at the party, but when I approached him on the patio he seemed so distant . . . not at all like the warm and compassionate man that I met in the hospital.

"Ouch, that struck a nerve," the brush ceased it soothing rhythm through my hair and she turned me so that I was facing her. "You look sadder than a birthday cake with no icing and no candles. What happened?"

"Nothing happened Jess, I . . . I was foolish, that's all." I turned away from her so that she couldn't see the tears that I felt building in my eyes. Why had I bothered to even entertain the notion that Carlisle could ever be interested in me?

"Oh no you don't," she scolded lightly as I began to cry. "You're not going to dismiss me that easily Esme Platt," she insisted as pulled me into a sisterly hug. "How many times over the years have you helped me through the rough spots in my life; arguments with Mike, difficult moments with Seth and Leah, or just plain crappy days . . . you've been there. Now it's my turn, so when you're finished crying your eyes out over whatever this is, you're going to tell me about it and we're going to work it out together."

"Yes Mama Jess," I managed between sobs.

"Well, that's an encouraging sign . . . you still have your cheeky sense of humor in spite of your current misery." She released me slowly and stood, "Let me get you a damp wash cloth and then we can begin sorting this mess out."

I watched Jess disappear into my bathroom and return a few minutes later with a damp face cloth. I took it from her and began wiping my face and neck with it until I felt more settled. All the while Jess sat patiently next to me on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you," I finally muttered.

"No problem, you would have done the same for me," she hummed, "That's what sisterhood is all about." I knew she was referring to our sorority bond, but I also knew that the statement went deeper that that . . . Jess and I were as close as sisters born of the same blood.

She didn't question me further, but instead, waited for me to speak on my own. "He was there," I whispered softly. "I wasn't expecting to see him, but there he was, talking to some of Aro's other guests. First I heard his mesmerizing voice ringing over the din of the crowd and then I saw him."

"Saw who," Jess asked, looking very concerned.

"Dr. Cullen," I answered shyly.

A wide smile spread across her face, replacing her deep concerned scowl. "Dr. Dreamboat Cullen, from the ER . . . the one you were fawning over like a love sick teenager the other day?"

I could only manage a nod.

"Oooh, I knew I should have gone to that party." She slammed her fist into the quilt that covered my bed. "Guys aren't the only ones that need wingmen, you know." She paused and then asked, "So, you did manage to speak to him didn't you . . . _please_ tell me that you were able to drop that _'miss wholesome and pure Sandra Dee' _act of yours and say something . . . _anything_, to the man."

"Jessica!" I fired back. I felt my face grow hot as I blushed, I was thirty-nine after all; a grown woman who had once been married . . . miss wholesome and pure Sandra Dee indeed. I felt the same desires and needs as any other woman; I simply chose to rise above my animal lust. "Just because I don't shamelessly throw myself at every available man in Atlanta, doesn't mean that I don't know how to approach a man and talk to him."

"So you did talk to him, thank God," she sighed with relief. "How did it go, what did he say . . . did you guys manage to set a date to have coffee . . . did he give you his number . . . _did you give him yours_?"

Her inquirers came as a rapid fire machine gun spray of questions that highlighted how things should have gone; but didn't. My dejected expression returned and tears threatened to make an encore appearance.

"No," I squeaked as I turned my back abruptly to her. "None of that happened."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry . . . it's obvious that things didn't go well." Her hand came to rest on my shoulder and she gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I hope he was kind enough to let you down easy."

"We never got to the letting down part," I sniffled. "During my presentation, I noticed him drift out onto the patio, so when I was done I slipped outside to talk to him. I wanted to thank him for his kindness at the hospital." I took a deep breath and sighed. "He said I didn't need to thank him for anything, because he was doing his job. I felt a little hurt by his reaction to my gratitude, but I ignored it and we continued to talk. The whole time we were together he seemed so cold and aloof; nothing at all like the warm eyed and tender man that I met at the hospital. In fact, I felt like my very presence had him terribly annoyed . . . like I was interrupting something by just being there." I paused again and wiped my face with the wash cloth. "Finally, after a few minutes, he stood up and apologized for being so abrupt, but that he had an early shift and he need to go round up his sons and head home. He gave me the usual polite well wishes and then he left." I looked Jessica in the eye then and voiced the deepest darkest fear of my heart. "Jess, I think he hates me."

There was a long moment of silence, and I could almost hear the gears turning in Jessica's head as she considered my tale. Finally she took a deep breath and I knew her judgment on the matter was coming. I had a sneaking suspicion that I wasn't going to like everything she was about to say.

"You know I love you, right?"

"Yes," I replied softly.

"You know that anything I say to you is meant for your benefit and that I would never say anything, no matter how rude or mean it may sound, with the intention of hurting you?"

"Yes, Jess, I know that," I huffed; this was definitely going to be unpleasant.

"Honey, I think your reading far more into Dr. Dreamboat's reaction and behavior than you should," She told me bluntly.

That was startling; I wasn't expecting her to say anything along those lines. "What do you mean?"

"You're basing your entire opinion of how he feels about you off of a single ten minute conversation," she continued. "He works as a doctor at one of Atlanta's busiest Emergency Rooms . . . that's like an insanely stressful job sweetie. How do you know he didn't lose a patient today, or that he wasn't slapped with a malpractice law suit right at quitting time? There are a ton of reasons that you might have caught him in a crappy mood . . . and any of those would be a far more plausible reason for him to seem cold and aloof than; '_Oh, I don't like this attractive, intelligent, and available woman that I just met. Never mind that I don't know jack about her . . . let me just hate her for the hell of doing it.'_"

"Jess, that's not fair," I protested. She was making me sound ridicules.

"I never intended my remarks to be fair, I intended them to be honest."

I thought about it for a minute, Carlisle wasn't mean to me and, in fact, our conversation was very pleasant. He just seemed very distracted, as if his mind was someplace else at that moment. Maybe Jess was right, maybe he had a bad day at the hospital and he hadn't gotten over it yet.

"I don't know, maybe you're right," I finally admitted reluctantly.

"I know I'm right, so please don't condemn poor Dr. Dreamboat to the deepest pit of Hades just yet." She giggled as she gave me a hug from behind. "And now that I know you're really interested in this guy, perhaps old Jessica can work some magic on this situation."

"Oh no, you most certainly will not," I grumbled as I turned around and stood up. "You stay out of this Jessica Newton. If something does develop between Carlisle and I, then I want it to happen naturally . . . no interference from you; else wise, I'll never know if it's real or not."

Jess started to laugh but she nodded her head. "Ok, Juliet . . . I'll leave you to pursue your bashful Romeo your own way, but I reserve the right to give you every scrap of unsolicited, unwanted, and useless romantic advice that I can think of."


	13. Chapter 13

**NOTE:** _I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!_

_Hi gang, school is sooo crazy. I didn't do as well as I wanted on my last set of exams, but I'm still hanging in there. I have more exams in a couple of weeks and a major group papper to write. Still I found a few sane moments to bang this out . . . Hope you enjoy it!_

_Chapter 13_

Aro:

Mondays were always busies for me. I tended to spend most of my day in the office seeing patients while one or two of my junior practice partners covered the hospitals. It was also the day I designated for taking in new patients. This was so that I could schedule appropriate test and have them back in time for follow up appointments.

The morning had been fairly routine and as I returned from lunch I noticed several cars in the parking lot; patients already here for the round of afternoon appointments no doubt. I still had a full forty five minutes before my first 1:30 patient so I didn't get out of my car right away. Instead, popped in my favorite Pavarotti CD and turned up the stereo. As the soothing strains filled the car I closed my eyes and allowed the music to seep into every cell of my body.

As I relaxed, I allowed my mind to wander back to the events of Saturday evening. I was ambivalent about the success of my party. With regards to its very obvious intention, greasing the wheels of progress for the renovation project, things had gone superbly. In fact, I received personal assurances from everyone of importance that the permitting process was a done deal.

When it came to my ulterior motives, however, things were not so cut and dry. I was disappointed that Carlisle and Esme hadn't bumped into each other earlier than they did. It took every ounce of restraint I could muster not to shamelessly introduce them. Once they did manage to find each other, their encounter on my patio was irritatingly brief. I observed them as they talked; Esme was her usual warm engaging self, but in response, Carlisle was distant and aloof. This was so uncharacteristic of my friend that I was utterly shocked by it. I was sorely tempted to march out onto the patio, snatch him up by the collar, and shake some sense into him. He left shortly after the encounter; choosing to excuse himself by saying goodnight to Sulpicia instead of me.

With a sigh I turned off the music and got out of my car. I entered my medical office via the staff entrance. As I ghosted up the hall, Heidi, my Office Manager noticed me and called my name. I turned expectantly to her, wondering which one of my staff had called in sick with the latest strain of flu.

"Uhm, Dr. Veracini," She began in a hushed tone, "There's a woman waiting for you in your office."

I was a bit puzzled and I was sure that my expression showed it. "Why do I have a patient in my office when they should be . . ." I glanced up at the wall clock to check the time, "Either still in the waiting room or in one of the exam rooms?"

"She isn't a patient sir," she insisted as she glanced nervously at my office door.

"Heidi, you know that I don't entertain pharmaceutical reps on Mondays," I scolded her sternly. "I know that they can be obstinate and overbearing, but you are my Office Manager and you have every authority to . . ."

"She isn't a drug rep either Doctor," Heidi interrupted me, then she dropped her voice and added, "Its Mrs. Newton."

"Mrs. Newton," I repeated as I looked at my closed office door. What was the wife of my architectural contractor doing in my office, "Did she say what she wanted?"

"No, only that she wanted to talk to you . . . privately."

I nodded gravely, "Thank you Heidi." With my dismissal she went back to her work and I started once more towards my office. At the door, I stopped for a moment to gather myself before opening it. As I crossed the threshold the famous Veracini charm was in full force and I literally beamed like a lighthouse.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Newton," I announced brightly as I walked in and shut the door behind me. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit; I do hope your husband hasn't run into any unforeseen snags in the permitting process." Though I had never met Mike's wife before, I was certain that even if some difficulty had arisen I would have had a phone call from him personally and not a visit from his spouse. Mr. Newton was nothing if not a professional.

"I wouldn't know Doctor," Mrs. Newton answered warmly. "Mike and I have a great marriage and we talk about everything, but he tries to avoid burdening me with detailed shop talk."

I found myself chuckling, "That is a trait he and I have in common then; I confide in Sulpicia regarding my practice but I don't drowned her with every tawdry detail." I paused briefly before cutting to the chase, "What can I do for you Mrs. Newton?" Mike mentioned she was involved with several very worthy local charities perhaps she sought to solicit a donation. My hand inched towards the drawer where I kept my checkbook as I awaited her reply.

"Well Dr. Veracini, this is a bit awkward for me but . . ."

"Nonsense," I interrupted her gently, "And please, call me Aro." I withdrew my checkbook and placed it on the desk before me. "Now which noble cause shall I make this out to?"

The poor woman's complexion blanched briefly before turning bright crimson. "Oh no Doctor . . . I mean Aro, you have the wrong idea . . . I'm not here to, uhm . . .I uhm . . .I . . ."

"Settle down Mrs. Newton," I soothed as I put away the checkbook. "Obviously there has been a misunderstanding. No harm has been done, and there is no need for such distress." When she was in control of her faculties again I continued to press her. "Now, what can I do for you?" I sat very still and waited for her reply.

After several tense moments and a deep sigh she began, "I have a friend whom I've known since collage; we were sorority sisters together. We both got engaged about the same time and were married within a year of each other. My marriage worked out great, but hers was a disaster. Charles beat her, did dispicibal thing to her, and in general did everything to make her life hell . . . so they eventually divorced."

She paused then and looked up from her lap to gauge my response thus far; I tried to appear thoughtful, yet sympathetic.

"Go on," I encouraged. I had an idea of who we were discussing, but I wanted her to finish her story.

"After her divorce, she and the girls moved her to Atlanta and Mike put her to work at the firm.

"The thing is Doc . . . forgive me, Aro. The thing is, while her kids are her world, she loves her job, and I think she's happy with her life in general . . . there is a distinct void there. Something is missing; she tries to gloss over it and pretend it doesn't matter but we both know better."

"And what would that something be, Mrs. Newton?" I asked, trying to hurry this conversation to its natural conclusion.

"It's Jessica, if you don't mind." She replied nervously before answering my question. "Romance, that's what is missing in Esm . . . I mean my friend's life."

"Forgive me Jessica, but I'm not a councilor, nor am I a Gypsy matchmaker," She almost said Mrs. Platt's name, and now I was deliberately goading her to get her to do so. "I don't see how I could be of service to you or your friend."

"Well, she doesn't really need a Gypsy matchmaker . . . That's what I'm around for." She flashed a brief mischievous smile and I noticed her relax just a little. "This is the awkward part, Aro . . . you see my friend is smitten with a certain doctor friend of yours and . . ."

"Why don't we, as you Americans say . . . cut the crap." I interrupted her in a frank tone. I wasn't upset by where I knew this conversation was going; I simply didn't have all afternoon to wait for Jessica to get to the point. "Your good friend, Mrs. Esme Platt, is very much infatuated with my good friend, Dr. Carlisle Cullen." I watched as Jessica's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened with shock. "You've come here today, because you wish to foster this relationship," I continued, undaunted by her reaction, "Well I assure you Jessica, that in that regard . . . we are in one accord."

If I thought Mrs. Newton was in shock before, I was sure of it now; she was trembling and her complexion was ashen. I got up and went to the small fridge in my office to fetch a bottle of water for her. She accepted my gesture with a small nod of thanks.

"This will likely come as a surprise to you, but Carlisle is just as taken with Esme as she seems to be with him." I told her casually as I resumed my seat. "Unfortunately, I don't see our star-crossed Romeo and Juliet getting together on their own any time soon . . . wouldn't you agree Jessica?"

"Uhm . . . yes, I uhm . . . I agree." She finally managed to stutter.

"And it would be a shame if our two friends missed this opportunity at happiness together simply because they were too shy to pursue it . . . yes?" Jessica only nodded this time. "Then we have a common cause, you and I . . . we both wish to see Carlisle and Esme together. Perhaps, as I am sure you came here to suggest; perhaps we can assist one another."

For the span of the next five minutes Jessica simply gawked at me; her eyes did not blink and she seemed frozen in place. I was beginning to wonder if I might need to call the paramedics for her when she finally emerged from her catatonic state.

"You want to help me?" she muttered in disbelief.

"That is the general idea," I replied. "And in return you will help me, BUT . . . neither Esme nor Carlisle can ever know of our association. Already I have taken a number of rather obvious risks in trying to steer my friend and Mrs. Platt together . . . risks that will likely strain mine and Carlisle's friendship until he can see his way clear to forgive me."

"Oh, I completely agree," Jessica sighed. She was beginning to recover from her shock. "If Esme knew I was here, talking to you, she'd kill me."

I couldn't help but laugh, "Well, we wouldn't want that." I opened the same drawer from earlier and once more retrieved my checkbook as well as an envelope. "You need a good cover story for being here today; which charity shall I make the check out too?"

"Uhm, The Atlanta Food Bank," she stammered hastily.

"Good . . . now, there is a fund raiser for the burn unit at Children's Hospital; are you familiar with it?" I asked as I made out the check.

"Of course; elegant dinner, black tie event . . . I was on the committee that arranged for last year's guest speaker. Why?"

I pushed both the check and the envelope towards her across the desk. "Two tickets to the event are in that envelop." I paused and fixed her with my gaze, "Since coming to Atlanta, Carlisle has gone every year . . . without exception, and I do not expect this to change. I want you and Esme to go together; make up whatever excuse you have too in order to convince her."

She took the check and the envelope and stuffed them into her purse. "Will you be there?" she asked hopefully.

"No, because that would appear suspicious, but Dr. Santiago will be there," I assured her. "He is aware of my intentions to get Carlisle and Esme together. I will see to it that he aids you in any way he can." I stood and gestured towards the door; a clear indication that our meeting needed to end.

"You won't, you know, mention my little visit to Mike . . . right?" she seemed worried and I understood.

"I consider our little clandestine operation as top secret, Jessica." I insisted as I lead her towards the office's back entrance. "It wouldn't do for either of us to get caught with our hands, as they say, in the cookie jar." Then I handed her my business card. "Keep it in a safe place; my private cell number is on the back should you need to contact me."

After taking my card and thanking me profusely for my help, Mrs. Newton left. I was feeling very satisfied as I passed by the nurse's station and picked up 1:30 patient's chart. Before I could get to the exam room, however, the phone in my pocket began to vibrate; when I checked it, I had a new text from Carlisle:

**We need to talk**

With a heavy sigh I texted him back to meet me at the Country Club after 7pm. This was not going to be a pleasant evening with my good friend; tonight, I was going to have to work very hard to maintain my most treasured friendship.

**AN: Don't you just love Aro when he's devious. He's the perfect Spy Master; I feel like he should be in a James Bond movie.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Note: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!**

Because you are all sooo patient, and because I needed a brake from my studies ... Enjoy!

**Chapter 14**

**Carlisle:**

I arrived at Aro's country club around 7:30; it didn't bother me in the least that I was late or that he might have been waiting for me. By now, I was seething. I had spent Sunday and most of today thinking about Aro's little stunt and I was incensed by the level of depravity he had stooped too. He had absolutely no right to meddle in my life; to interfere in poor Miss Platt's life as well however, . . . words couldn't adequately express how thoroughly disgusted I was with Aro at the moment. He would be lucky indeed, if I didn't end our friendship on sight.

The maitre d' at the clubhouse restaurant met me at the door and escorted me to Aro's table. He was just ending a phone call when I arrived and several folders were scattered on the table before him. He had brought work to occupy himself with while he waited; he expected me to be late. An irritated growl rumbled deep in my throat.

"Can I get you something to drink, Dr. Cullen? "The middle aged gentleman asked as he seated me. I was about to answer with a polite 'no' but Aro beat me to the punch.

"A bottle of your house red wine please, Alonzo," he insisted, "and you may now place that dinner order I gave you earlier with the kitchen."

"Very good, Dr. Veracini," the maitre d' replied. "I'll place the order and be right back with your wine."

When the man was well out if earshot, I turned to glare at Aro. "I'm not here to have dinner with you, I'm here to . . ."

"Give me a piece of your mind," he interrupted casually as he gathered up his work, "Yes, I know; I thought as much." His casual dismissal of my motives only served to stoke the flames of my anger. "But, it is late and I haven't had a single morsel since midday . . . so you will excuse me if I enjoy my meal."

Before I could comment the wine arrived; Alonzo poured each of us a glass before disappearing again. I was beginning to think that perhaps a dinner meeting wasn't such a wonderful idea. Every time my anger flared to consume me and I was ready to verbally rip into Aro, some distraction or other would crop up to quench my rage.

"I believe you were about to lambast me," Aro prompted before taking a sip of his wine. He was completely unperturbed by my outrage; he simply didn't care.

"You know, you have a lot of nerve," I hissed.

"One doesn't achieve the pinnacles of success that I have in my life without a certain amount of nerve," he dismissed absently.

I felt my jaws clinch along with every other muscle in my body; I could easily imagine myself gleefully throttling Aro. It took several deep breaths to calm me and I sent up an earnest prayer for the strength not to commit premeditated murder in a public place.

"This is all just one big game to you, isn't it," I growled in a low tone. I was finding it quite impossible to squelch my English accent at the moment; a clear symptom of my fury. "The renovations to the carriage house, the ground breaking party Saturday; they were nothing more than plot twists in your elaborate attempt to get me hooked up with Miss Platt!" I paused briefly to catch my breath as I ran one frustrated hand through my short blond hair. "That's a low blow, even for you, Aro. I mean its bad enough that you insist on interfering in my life, but now you're meddling in her's too!"

"Carlisle, are you feeling well," my friend scowled with concern, "You seem to be imagining a conspiracy where there is none; perhaps you should take an afternoon off and pay Dr. Saunders a visit."

Beneath my sport coat and blue oxford, every muscle in my body trembled with fury. This time I didn't bother to suppress the low rumble in my throat and it echoed menacingly in my voice when I spoke. "How dare you!"

I didn't realize that I'd raised my voice until I noticed guests at nearby tables glaring at me. I quickly rained my temper in. "I admired you when I was a resident, I considered you a friend and mentor for most of my professional career . . . after Rebecca's death, you and Sulpicia became the closest thing to family that my boys and I have." Instead of shouting, my voice began to tremble; I was so incensed that I was close to breaking down. "You can't just admit to meddling and be done with it, even though we both know the truth . . . no, instead you dredge up my past mental instabilities and stab me in the heart with them. " I stood to my feet and nearly knocked the table over in the process, "Fine Aro, if that's the way you want it . . . I'm done, our friendship is finished!"

I turned on my heels and left the table, nearly bowling Alonzo over in the process as he arrived with our salads. I didn't care who stared at me as I stomped through the restaurant like an angry bull. Finally, I found the front door and the calming late autumn air beyond it. The valet shot me an odd look as he retrieved my keys. Instead of waiting for him to fetch my car, I took the keys from him and trudged off in search of it myself.

It didn't take long to locate my sleek black Mercedes and soon I was securely inside my sanctuary. I couldn't believe that I just ended my longest and most valued friendship, but what other choice did I have. Suddenly a cavalcade of memories flooded my mind; happy holidays spent at the Veracini home, Sulpicia's smiling face on nights when the boys and I came for dinner, my wedding day with Aro as my best man smartly outfitted in a tux and standing at my side as we watched Rebecca coming up the aisle. I slammed my fist into the steering wheel in frustration and then regretted it when the horn blared.

After mumbling several curses under my breath, I rammed the key into the ignition. Fluttering movement and a flash of white in the periphery of my vision made me stop short of cranking the car. When I looked up, a white dove sat perched on the hood of my Mercedes.

"Not now, Rebecca," I grumbled as I turned the key hastily. I was mortified when nothing happened. After several stunned moments I tried the key again, but my car wouldn't turn over and I groaned aloud. I was as meticulous with auto maintenance as I was with patient care . . . the vehicle had been fully serviced just three and a half weeks ago and the battery was brand new.

I looked out the windshield, the dove on my hood was nonchalantly preening itself; completely unconcerned that I might suddenly drive away. "Alright Becca, you have my undivided attention . . . what is it?"

Her sweet tinkling voice didn't fill my mind, nor did she appear as a shimmering ghostly form in the seat beside me. Instead the dove on my hood continued to pick at its feathers until something startled it and it flew away. In the next moment someone was tapping lightly on the window glass. I looked up to find Aro standing beside my car holding up a disembodied automotive part as if it were a trophy bass. Reluctantly I opened the door and stepped out.

"I believe this is yours," he handed the mass of wires and greasy metal to me. "According to Dmitri, your car will not start without it."

"You had the valet disable my car . . . Really!" I slammed the car door closed, "Is nothing sacred to you . . . is there no depravity to low for you to stoop too?"

"It is not depravity, Carlisle," he dismissed calmly, "I simply know you, that is all. I anticipated that our conversation would have a volatile ending and so, I ask Dmitri to insure that you didn't leave before we had a chance to rectify things."

"There's nothing to rectify Aro," I insisted as I examined the car part. If I couldn't discern what it was and where it went, I would be forced to call the auto club and have my vehicle towed to the shop.

"Is that so," he sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest. "And what shall I tell Sulpicia when she asks whether you and the boys will be joining us for Cavatini on Wednesday?" Before I could come up with an answer, he pointed to the part dangling from my fist. "Put that filthy thing down in the grass, and come with me. By the time we get back from our drive, Dmitri will have it back in for you." He turned and began walking across the lot towards his own car, fully expecting me to follow.

"I had hoped we could do this over stakes and a few glasses of wine, but given your sensitive nature, I should have known better," I heard him mumble to himself as he unlock his car. When he turned and looked up at me; I hadn't moved from my spot. "Well, put that thing down and come on . . . I would like to get home to my wife sometime tonight."

With a resigned sigh, I put the greasy car part down in the grass near the front bumper and walked the short distance towards Aro's car. As I opened the door to get in, a dove cooed mournfully from one of the nearby trees. I scanned the area looking for any sign of my guardian before finally getting into the car.

We didn't drive far; Aro owned a lakeside lot near the country club. There was a small cabin on the property; the Veracini family came here for weekend getaways . . . Aro's idea of camping. After parking the car we walked towards the house, and I couldn't repress the feeling of foreboding that suffused me. While Aro was clearly in the wrong for interfering in my private affairs, and I had been well within my rights to stand up to him . . . I couldn't help but suspect that I was about to be taken 'out to the woodshed'.

Once inside, he pointed to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, indicating that I should sit. He watched me with his piercing mahogany eyes as I settled myself into the chair; then he continued to watch me for several more moments. After what seemed like an eternity he began busying himself with starting a fire in the hearth.

"I am sorry for the comment about Dr. Saunders," he sighed as he arranged the wood. "You were right, that was hitting way below the belt."

"Apology accepted," I answered quietly. "Now if you'll only promise to butt out of my private life; we can all go home happy."

The only sound to answer me was that of the wind dancing in the trees outside. He finished lighting the fire in silence and then took his seat; I was beginning to become anxious.

"Carlisle," he began in his most patriarchal tone, "If you noticed one of your sons careening down a path that you knew would lead to his eventual destruction . . . would you sit back and do nothing?"

"Of course not," I insisted before suddenly realizing that I was being led like an ox on a chain. He turned to gaze at me, and I countered hotly, "I am not on a path to destruction Aro . . . I'm a widower not an alcoholic or a drug addict."

"What you are, my friend, is a lonely man who has lost his _fuoco della vita_ . . . his fire of life," he insisted rationally. "I look into your eyes and I do not see the man I once knew; only his sad shadow remains. I long to see the fire in your eyes again Carlisle . . . I long to see _vita_, **life,** burring brightly once more in those crystal blue orbs."

"My fire ceased to burn the day Rebecca's heart stopped beating." I muttered. We had had this conversation on more than one occasion in the past, I was not eager to have it again.

"Yes, I know," he sighed, "But you do not need to endure the remainder of your existence as a member of the_ morti viventi_. Choose to live again Carlisle; drop off your grave clothes and climb out of your tomb . . . arise Lazarus and walk!"

"Do you not even fear God," I asked, "that you would have the nerve to mock the words of Christ?"

"I do not mock my Lord," he replied, making the sign of the cross as he did so. "I merely quote the Holy Scripture . . . you do it often enough and no one accuses you of mockery."

We were silent then for a time, each lost in our own thoughts. It was Aro who finally broke the silence, "I am sorry, my friend, if I have inadvertently upset you."

It was a vague, open ended apology; one that I had no intention of accepting. I wanted to hear him repentant for his interference and I wasn't going to take anything less.

"Then you admit that the entire renovation of the carriage house was nothing but an attempt, by you, to get Esme and I together?"

"I did not say that," he grumbled before getting up from his chair and heading for the cabin's small kitchen. "I left the restaurant without finishing my wine, would you care for some?" he asked as he took a green glass bottle from the cooler beside the fridge and glasses from the rack on top of it.

I shook my head, indicating I didn't want any wine. "You're going to get drunk, and then you won't be able to drive home to Sulpicia."

"Nonsense," he replied as he returned with his glass. "A Veracini does not get drunk. I could consume an ocean of wine and my hand would still be as steady as a rock."

"You're nervous," I observed lightly. "Ordinarily you only have a single glass of wine with dinner and a touch of brandy with your cigar afterwards. The only time you drink copiously is when you're nervous about something . . . like guilt."

He shrugged as he settled once more into his chair, "You're too observant for your own good, did you know that? Yes I am nervous . . . I am afraid that I'm about to lose a valuable friend who is like a brother to me."

"Then admit your guilt, apologize, and we can both go home satisfied." I suggested.

He sighed deeply then, as if he was as old and tired as poor Moses. For a split second I found myself feeling sorry for him.

"If I were guilty of some crime, Carlisle, I would indeed admit to it," he finally answered, "I am a man who values his integrity. But perhaps I was mistaken in not giving you a heads up.

"You see, I make no qualms about being the best of the best in my field. Because I am the best, in return, I tend to surround myself with only the best; the best clothes, the best food, the best cars, the best wine, " he toasted me with his glass and smiled warmly at me before taking a hearty sip and then continuing. "When I finally decided to renovate the carriage house as an anniversary present for Sulpicia, I did considerable research into who would be the best for the job. One name came up over and over again . . . that of Newton Architectural Solutions LLC and the lovely Miss Esme Ann Platt. She has won numerous awards throughout the southeast and garnered the accolades of several very prestigious Historical Societies.

"I was a little concerned when I hired Mr. Newton's firm and requested Miss Platt for the lead on the project, as I had recognized her name from our conversation in my study. Still, I could find no one else better suited to do the renovations. I suppose I should apologize for neglecting to mention Miss Platt's involvement in this project, but I am guilty in this case of oversight . . . not meddling."

His reasoning was solid and his excuse seemed valid . . . try as I might, my mind couldn't find any hole in his story. I still held firmly to the belief that Aro was up to some sort of mischief with regards to Esme and I, but I no longer had glaring proof of it. I watched him for a time as he drank his wine; hoping to notice some crack in his pristine façade that would indicate guilt where he had denied any existed. Nothing happened, not so much as a wrinkle around the mouth or raised eyebrow to indicate deceit on his part. Finally I sighed with defeat.

"Alright Aro, I accept your apology, we . . . "

"We are still friends?" he interrupted me enthusiastically; it was the most emotion that I had seen on his face or heard in his voice all night. In that moment he appeared as an excited little boy about to receive the most exquisite present imaginable . . . I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped my lips.

"Yes, Aro, we are still friends," I answered warmly, but then I changed tones and added, "But do warn me in the future about things like this . . . it will save both of us enormous amounts of grief."


	15. Chapter 15

**Note: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!**

**Happy Halloween gang!**

_It's shrot, but the hopless romantics among you will likely enjoy it very much._

**Chapter 15**

**Esme**

"Are you sure about this Jess," I whined as we walked the short distance from the public parking deck to the little uptown coffee bar and book store that Jess wanted me to see. "Wouldn't a Starbucks inside a Barns and Nobles have been just as good and ten times more convenient?"

Jessica laughed as she continued to haul me along the crowded downtown sidewalk. "This place is fabulous Esme; you've got to try it."

"So you've been here before?" I suspected that she hadn't simply by the way she was acting while we were driving over; that is to say, she was behaving like an out of town tourist.

"No, but It was recommended to me on good authority by . . . uhm, well . . . by one of my clients." Jess was behaving very strangely . . . even for her. "We happened to talk by phone last night, and he suggested . . . no, he insisted that _The Circulation Desk_ is the best coffee bar and bookstore in Atlanta."

"A client: as in one of those charities you raise money for?" I scowled as we arrived outside our destination.

The building was in the grand style of the Victorian era. Nestled as it was between modern office buildings and the trappings of urban life it looked as though the little shop had been plucked from the heart of Victorian London and plopped down in Atlanta, Georgia, 2010. As Jess opened the door, the aroma of fresh baked goods, paper and ink, and of course strong coffee filled my nose and made me moan. We hadn't even made it inside yet, and I was already hopelessly in love with the place . . . but I would never tell Jess that.

"Not one of _those_ clients, silly," Jess corrected as we found a quiet table, "One of my donors."

"What can I get for you ladies?" a smartly dressed and overtly polite young waiter asked. "I highly recommend a slice of Mrs. Gertrude's homemade apple pie with whatever you decide on." His smile was almost as convincing s his comments.

We sent him away a few minutes later with an order for two mocha cappuccinos and two slices of apple pie. While Jess fielded a call from one of her clients, I decided to take a moment to brows the book shelves. The section filled with classics was an instant draw and allowed me to remain close enough to the table to see when our order arrived. As I was thumbing through the pages of the latest reprint of the Sherlock Holms collection, the little bell over the door jingled signaling that a new customer had entered. When I absently looked up, I felt my chest grow tight and I could have sworn that my heart stopped beating. He was wearing the same light blue oxford and khaki pants that he had on the day I came into the ER. His glacier blue eyes quickly fixed themselves on the front counter; I watched him cross the room and begin chatting with the hostess at the cash register.

My mouth went dry as I watched him place his order and then pay for it. I couldn't move . . . I couldn't think, the only two activities I seemed able to manage at the moment were breathing and gawking. I was so consumed that I didn't notice Jessica until she grabbed me by the elbow.

"Hey, you're as pale as a ghost," she whispered, "what's wrong?"

I couldn't tear my eyes off the amazing man standing at the counter waiting for his coffee. "It's him Jess," I whispered back.

She took a moment to follow my gaze and then scowled in confusion, "Ok, he's nice, so . . . what about it?"

I turned to look my friend in the eye knowing full well that my face held the most goofy expression ever, "That's him Jess . . . you know, HIM!"

It took a moment for Jess to catch on, but when she did, she lit up like a Christmas tree. "You mean Dr. Dreamboat . . . that's the guy you've been fawning over for the past few weeks?"

I could only manage a nod.

"Well," she continued to whisper as she led me back towards our table, "Why don't you go over and talk to him?"

"Oh, I couldn't do that," I sat down without taking my eyes off Dr. Cullen's back. "Not after what happened the last time we met."

Our pie and coffee had arrived during my absence and I took a sip from the steaming mug and prayed that Jess would let this drop. I was starting to think that my prayers had been answered when suddenly Jessica's voice boomed through the quiet shop.

"Excuse me . . . Dr. Cullen," she called after him as he headed for the door. I felt my face flush and I knew I was beet red with embarrassment. As Carlisle turned and moved towards our table I wanted to crawl into my coffee cup and die.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" he asked Jess politely.

"Uh, no . . . but you know my friend." She pointed to me and his gaze followed.

"Esme," he said my name softly as a warm smile turned up the corners of his gorgeous mouth; the combination sent a tingle up my spine. "How nice to see you again," then he pointed to the Sherlock Holms book that I was still holding, "Somehow I didn't pick you for a fan of Doyle . . . I imagined Jane Austin would be more to your liking."

I had intended to put the book down before returning to my seat, but with all the distraction it slipped my mind. "Well, I like a good mystery every now and then," I managed to recover.

"Why don't you pull up a chair and join us," Jess offered enthusiastically, "Unless, you have to rush back to the hospital . . . in that case, we wouldn't want to keep you from your work."

"Well, I . . . uhm . . ." he seemed to be flustered as he struggled to come up with a descent out: I wasn't sure whether to feel sorry for him or sink into another bout of depression over being rejected. "I wouldn't want to intrude on the lovely afternoon you ladies have planed, Mrs. . . . uhm, Mrs. . . ."

"Jessica," I provided. I felt, for some reason, that it was my duty to do the introduction. "Dr. Cullen, may I introduce my best friend, Jessica Newton."

"Mrs. Newton," he inclined his head politely. "I met your husband at Aro's party the other night; it's nice to have an opportunity to meet you as well."

"That's very kind of you doctor," Jess replied diplomatically before pointing to an empty seat at a nearby table. "I don't think anyone's sitting in that one; why don't you drag it over here and take a load off."

For a moment Carlisle seemed taken aback by Jessica's very forward behavior, but he quickly recovered. To my great surprise he pulled the vacant chair over and sat down. As he placed his to-go cup on the table, he flashed me another warm smile and my stomach tried to do a back flip in response.

We talked casually for a while, mostly about literature and coffee. Carlisle, as it turned out, preferred hot tea and he was quite enamored with classical literature. He liked the work of Doyle as well as a number of other well known English authors. Not surprisingly, when it came to Sherlock Holms, he identified more with Dr. Watson more than Holms.

An odd expression spread suddenly across Jessica face, "Uhm, would you two mind excusing me for a moment . . . I need to visit the powder room."

"Do you want me to go with you" I ask as I glanced nervously at Carlisle. I was sure he wouldn't think that I was rude for accompanying my friend to the ladies room.

"No, you stay and entertain the good doctor." She insisted after putting her thing in her chair and pushing it under the table. "I won't be long," she gave me a discreet wink before heading for the back of the store.

Once Jess disappeared, things at the table became awkwardly silent. I tried to think of something to say as I finished the last of my coffee and Carlisle swallowed the last of his tea. I was saved when Dr. Cullen chose to speak.

"Uhm, Esme," he began a bit shyly, "I . . . uhm . . . well, I feel I owe you an apology for leaving you so abruptly Saturday night."

"You said you had an early shift," I replied casually, "it's OK, really."

"I appreciate your forgiving disposition, but I still feel I owe you," he began fidgeting with his empty plastic cup. "I might have come off as somewhat aloof during our conversation. I don't want you to think that I found your company disagreeable or that I was disinterested in what you were saying. I was upset with Dr. Veracini at the time and my irritation affected my general mood. I regret not being more amiable."

"I thought you and Aro were friends," I frowned, "I'm sorry to hear that you fought."

The warm smile he showed me earlier returned, and this time it spread to his bright blue eyes and his musical voice. "He and I are very dear friends; in fact, Aro and Sulpicia are the closest thing to family that my boys and I have." He paused and then added, "While we disagree from time to time our friendship is rock solid . . . we have rectified the situation between us."

"That's good," I sighed with relief, "A true friend is hard to find these days. I don't know what I would do without Jessica and Mike."

"Hmm, yes . . . a true friend is a blessing from Heaven," he nodded towards the direction that Jess had disappeared in. "She and her husband look out for you the way Aro and Sulpicia look out for me . . . It's comforting to know that you have such people in your life."

I found the last part of his statement very confusing until I realized he was talking to himself. After a few moments of silence, Carlisle slowly stood to his feet. He smiled at me again and I felt a slight tingle in my cheeks.

"You must forgive me, but I do have to get back to the hospital."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I apologized hastily. "We didn't mean to keep you, I mean . . ."

"Esme," he said my name and every word that was poised to fall from my lips evaporated. "You and Jessica have nothing to be sorry for. If I didn't have a shift to finish, I would gladly wile away the remainder of the afternoon in your company." Then he pointed to the Sherlock Holms anthology that I still held in my lap. "Will you let me get that for you? Had I arrived earlier, I would have picked up the tab for the coffees and pie."

I looked down at the book and pondered his offer. After several seconds, I was about to decline, but he gently took the volume from me. "I would consider it a great honor," he insisted as he tucked the book into the crook of his arm and then proceeded to take it to the cash register. He returned moments later beaming with delight as he presented me with my gift.

"Read it in good health," he told me kindly, "It's been many years since I last read Sherlock Holms, but if you care to discuss it sometime, I would be delighted." He began patting his pockets feverishly until he found what he was looking for; a white business card. With a pen from his breast pocket he wrote something on the back and then handed it to me.

"I come into _The Circulation Desk_ every Monday and Wednesday about this time," his smile was now a broad grin. "My cell number is on the back of the card, please feel free to call me. We can meet sometime and talk about the book."

I nodded enthusiastically, "Thank you, I will . . . uhm, call you I mean."

To my utter surprise, he took my hand in his, raised it to his lips, and kissed the back of my hand. "It's been a lovely afternoon Esme, thank you . . . and I hope to see you again soon." He gave my hand a squeeze before releasing it and then he turned and walked slowly towards the door.

My heart was still pounding and my face was still flush ten minutes later when Jessica returned from her extended trip to the ladies room. Though she was speaking to me, my eyes remained fixed on the front door.

"Where's Dr. Dreamboat?"

"Sailing back to work," I sighed.

"Oh God," she groaned, "What happened? I gave you two some privacy so that . . . I don't know, so that _**something **_could happen!"

"He bought me a book . . . and he kissed my hand," I finally stopped staring holes in the door and looked down at the book in my lap. As I flipped absently through it, something long and white fell from between the pages and fluttered to the floor. I bent and picked it up; it was the wing feather of a white dove onto which someone had painted a little nocturnal landscape scene above the central vein and below it there was an inscription:

_Her_ _silver voice is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence._

The quote was from Longfellow, a work titled _The Spirit of Poetry_. I felt my chest tighten again and I was ready to cry.

"Come on Juliet," Jess grumbled as she gathered our things, "Let's get you out of here before the water works start. You can tell me everything once we're in the car."

**0o0o0o**

**AN: remembre that phone call Aro was just ending when Carlisle arived for dinner . . . were you wondering who he was talking to . . . how Jessica just happen to have Esme in the coffee shop in time to meet Carlisle . . . deviousness; need I say more.**


	16. Chapter 16

**NOTE: _I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!_**

**_HAPPY THANKSGIVING!_**

**_A brief chapter as a thanksgiving gift; I hope you all enjoy it. One of you asked why Carlisle had such a sudden change of heart in the last chapter, well maybe this will shed some light on that ... or maybe not ;=)~ _**

**_I have finals over the next two weeks and then I'm looking at having surgery on my thumb over Christmas break ... they found a bone eating lesion on the tip of the very end bone of my left thumb. It's been hurting me for almost 6 years and everyone told me it was Arthritis. I'm looking forward to getting it removed and having relief._**

**_o0o0o0o_**

**_Chapter 16_**

**Carlisle**

Just as morning traffic left Atlanta's downtown connector in a state of chaotic gridlock, so too did the evening rush hour. It didn't help matters when an accident further complicated the situation. I was now an hour into my afternoon commute and I was only a little more than a fourth of the way home. At this rate I would likely be late to Aro's for dinner. On a positive note; Sulpicia's amazing cavittinni awaited me at the end of my ordeal.

I sighed loudly as my eye scanned the log jam of vehicles in front of me; the sea of red tail lights seemed to stretch into infinity. With no source of immediate stimulation to occupy it, my mind drifted to the events at the coffee shop. My visit to _The Circulation Desk_ had been routine; a part of my usual mid afternoon ritual. Since I knew most of the community of patrons that visited the quaint little shop, I paid little attention to the hum of activity as I walked through the front doors . . . that is, until someone called my name. The trumpet of her voice from across the room was unexpected and when I turned to find its source, I didn't recognize the dark haired woman who summoned me. In truth, my first thought was that she might be a process server looking to serve me with court papers.

When I inquired after the mystery woman's identity, she smiled wickedly before pointing across the table at her companion, "you know my friend," she insisted matter-of-factly. When I allowed my gaze to shift across the table I nearly toppled to the ground. Esme's presence at the coffee shop left me stunned. Like a love struck teenager trying to talk to the most beautiful girl in school, I found myself fumbled for something intelligent to say. Fortunately for me, she was holding an anthology of Sherlock Holms stories and it became my saving grace.

It had been my intention at that point to make a few pleasant remarks and then politely excuse myself. While our chance meeting at the coffee shop didn't overtly reek of Aro's involvement, the events of the party were still fresh in my mind. Mrs. Newton put those plans to a quick and devastating end … "I don't think anyone's sitting in that one," she pointed to an empty chair at a nearby table. "Why don't you drag it over here and take a load off."

Those words were the final death nail to my polite escape. My choices at that point consisted of giving in to Mrs. Newton's determined insistence or being frightfully rude. One brief glance in Esme's direction decided thing for me; the brink of utter desolation glistened in her bright eyes. I knew if I left her abruptly again, as I had on Saturday night, her tender heart would be crushed. Even if Aro was somehow involved in this seemingly chance encounter, to hurt Esme further was a travesty that I was unwilling to commit . . . and so I pulled the chair over and sat down.

The hour and a half of my break passed far too quickly for my liking. I found the company of Esme and her friend both stimulating and enjoyable. When Jessica excused herself to attend to personal need, I decided to take the opportunity to apologies for my rudeness on Saturday. Esme graciously accepted my humble apology and even allowed me to do the honor purchasing the book she was clutching as an added token of my penitence. It was then, however, that thing became a bit … awkward.

"Read it in good health," the words tumbled warmly from my mouth as I presented the book to her. Instead of leaving my well wishes at that, however, my mouth continued to speak as if possessed of its own will, "It's been many years since I last read Sherlock Holms, but if you care to discuss it sometime, I would be delighted." I felt a certain giddiness suffuse me then, and I began searching my pockets for one of my business cards. With an enthusiasm that I hadn't known in years . . . since I was an undergraduate at university to be precise, I jotted my personal cell number on the back of the card.

"I come into _The Circulation Desk_ every Monday and Wednesday about this time," I told her as a broad grin spread like dawns first light across my face. "My cell number is on the back of the card, please feel free to call me. We can meet sometime and talk about the book."

I was half way back to the hospital before I came down from my euphoric state enough to realize what I had done. _I'd just given my number to a woman_; I was mortified. The implications of that gesture rattled through my mind for the rest of my shift. Even now, as I thought about what I had done, my gut churned with an irritating mixture of utter embarrassment and shame as well as . . . though I hated to admit it, anticipation. A loud growl tore from my throat and I slammed my fist into the steering wheel. When the horn blared in response to my outburst, I knew I need to, as Edward would say . . . get a grip.

To distract myself from my growing irritation I turned on the stereo and quickly found NPR. The announcer's soothing voice as she prattled on about the latest world news made my shoulder relax just a bit. I was just getting interested in a story about farmers in Jakarta when the stereo went suddenly to static; when it cleared the strains of _**Shambala**_ blared from the speakers.

In spite of my irritation at the intrusion, I couldn't help but smile. Where I was highly pragmatic to the point of being predictable, my beloved Rebecca was the free spirited bohemian. This song, among other upbeat ballads of the late sixties and early seventies, were among her personal favorites.

"Rebecca," I muttered sternly.

"_Tell me, how does your light shin in the halls of Shambala_ …" Her voice sang enthusiastically to the refrain. I turned and found her shimmering, translucent form seated beside me.

The sight of her performing karaoke style made me shake my head and chuckle as she continued to serenade me . . . I sorely missed Rebecca's light hearted antics.

"Oh, lighten up Carlisle," she chided me playfully when the song ended. "So you gave her your number . . . that's great."

I glanced over at her and glared severely . . . in response she laughed at me.

"The last time I saw an expression that sour, Peaches got her tail caught in the screen door," she commented. "That was the unhappiest looking cat I've ever seen . . . You're a close second right now."

"I had no intention of giving her my number," I grumped.

"And yet you did . . . Amazing isn't it," she hummed in reply. I hated it when she was this pleased with herself.

When I remained silent, she sighed. "Look Sweetheart, it's really great that you gave her your number . . . this is a huge step in the right direction and I'm proud of you."

"This really isn't the sort of topic I want to discuss with you Rebecca," I felt my creeks getting hot and I was desperate to change the subject.

"Why not," she asked with a shrug, "I remember a time when we talked about everything."

The car behind me sounded its horn and I jumped. In front of me was a gap big enough to accommodate a tractor trailer and at least two cars; I hadn't moved and was further stalling the already snarled traffic. I pressed the accelerator lightly and advanced to the place behind the taxi cab that was in front of me.

"I simply feel that it is highly inappropriate for me to be discussing my attraction to another woman with my wife," I huffed.

"You _are_ attracted to her then," Rebecca purred. "Outstanding, that will make this a lot easier."

"Rebecca," I groaned. To say that I was frustrated would have been an understatement; it was bad enough that I had my best friend conspiring against me in this matter . . . but my beloved as well.

"How would you have felt," I began logically, "If I had come home one afternoon with another woman draped on my arm?"

"I would have kicked your sad sorry ass, took the kids, and filed for divorce," she answered plainly. A triumphant smile bloomed across my lips only to wilt at her next comment. "But there is a small matter that you fail to take into account . . . I was alive then, and now I'm not. Our vows clearly stated: until death do us part."

She may as well have stabbed my with a knife; pain seared my chest and I found it difficult to breath. It took several moments for me to regain my composure enough to continue of conversation.

"Fair enough, but if you don't mind my asking; why have you taken such a sudden interest in my love life?"

"I have my reasons," she answered enigmatically. When I glared at her again, she sighed, "Very well, I have two reasons: one, you're miserable and unhappy and that fact hurts me terribly . . . I want to see you happy again. And two . . . well, reason number two is a little complicated."

"How so?"

"Uhm, well . . . do you remember the movie _**Ghost**_, with Whoopi Goldberg and Patrick Swayze," she asked a bit shyly.

"Of course, it was one of your favorites . . . towards the end," I swallowed hard and concentrated on the road before me. The last thing I wanted to think about right now was the dark times surrounding Rebecca's final months of life.

"Swayze's character couldn't cross over until his unfinished business in this life was settled." She paused and I felt the familiar electric tingle as Rebecca's translucent hand touched my arm. "You are my unfinished business, Carlisle. In those weeks before I passed, I thought only of you . . . what would become of you, would you be alright. Even in those last days the weight of your grief was written on your face; your despair clouded the light in your eyes.

"I can't cross over until my unfinished business is settled and you find happiness again . . . it's the only eternal reward that I want."

I was at a loss and I fumbled for something to say. Finally I managed, "And you think Mrs. Platt is the solution . . . that she's the key to my happiness."

"Yes, I do," Becca insisted. "So when she calls you tomorrow afternoon, try not to blow it."

"_When she calls me_," I was a bit incensed, "you already know how all this is going to play out, don't you?"

Rebecca laughed, "No silly, I'm not God. If I could predict the future, I'd slip a dollar in the pocket of some homeless person and whisper the winning Power Ball numbers in their ear. I only know that Esme is going to call you because she's made up her mind to do so."

Before I could reply, my phone began to vibrate.

"That's Aro," she informed me as I fished the cell phone from my pocket. "I would tell you to say that I said hello, but admittance to the mental hospital is not conducive to developing romantic relationships."


	17. Chapter 17

**Note: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!**

**Well, I'm done with finals for another smester . . . and I have to say, while I really enjoyed my classes, I'm happy to see the back side of Fall 2010! bb4ever was right, CVA is a challanging course but I liked it and I learned a lot. Now I just have to wait for my grades ... everyone keep you fingers crossed, OK!**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 17**

**Aro:**

To say that I was pleased when I received Jessica's text message regarding Carlisle and Esme's encounter at _The Circulation Desk_ would have been a gross understatement. I was ecstatic!

I had hoped that my two reluctant love birds would at least talk to each other. However, to hear that not only did they talk, but that Carlisle had purchased a book for Esme and left a lover's token within the pages to boot was more than I dared hope for. The last line of Jessica's text was perhaps the most encouraging of all … _Romeo gave Juliet his card_. If things keep progressing this way I felt certain that I would have them engaged by New Years.

These events, while pleasing beyond measure, also presented me with a new dilemma. According to Alec and Jane, Carlisle's boys and Esme's girls didn't exactly hit it off. The encounter at the pool table had been just the tip of the iceberg; the rest of the evening had been no less frosty. If Carlisle perceived any animosity from his sons regarding Esme's daughters, my entire plan could fall apart. As a father, my friend was selfless to a fault and he would throw away this budding relationship in a heartbeat for the sake of his children.

My plan was becoming more complicated by the second as I pondered ways to get these two groups of young people to bond. Of course I could have Jane invite the girls over on some pretense while at the same time, have Alec invite Carlisle's boys over. Unfortunately, I feared that would come off as highly contrived and might make Carlisle suspicious.

"Hey Dad," Alec's voice drew me from my thoughts and I looked up to find my son standing in the doorway of my home office. "You got a minuet?"

My children were very much aware of the fact that I was a busy man; however it pained me deeply when they assumed I had no time for them. "Of course Alec," I stood and crossed the room towards him, "I always have time for you, my Son. What can I do for you?"

"Well … Edward, Jasper, and Emmett want to go to the movies on Saturday and they invited me," he paused and then added hesitantly, "Can I go … please Dad?"

The prospect of Carlisle's sons going to the movies on Saturday presented me with a number of possibilities. Before I could consider them, however, I first had to be a father. "Have you finished that paper you were working on for your honors Biology class?"

"It isn't due until next week Wednesday," Alec groaned. I gave him a stern glare and he instantly revised his answer. "I'm almost done," he insisted, "I can have a final draft finished by bedtime on Friday."

"That would be fine," I nodded my approval. I was not a man who tolerated procrastination, and my children knew this. "Put the draft on my desk before you go to bed, so that I can review it and make comments. Then you may go with your friends to the movies on Saturday and do any necessary revising of your paper after Mass on Sunday."

"Thanks, Dad," he replied as he threw his arms around me. I returned his affection in earnest.

"You know, Alec," I sighed as I continued to hold him, "I may not say this often enough, but … I love you, Son, and I'm very, very proud of you."

"Even though I want to study engineering instead of medicine?" he asked shyly from against my chest.

His desire to go into engineering had been a point of contention between us since the eighth grade. I decided that it was high time that I took Carlisle's wise council on this matter and set it to rest.

"While it would thrill my heart immensely to have my son follow in my footsteps and become a physician," I replied as I tousled his hair, "if the pursuit of engineering makes you happy, then you have my full blessing."

"Thanks, Dad," Alec's face was a light with joy. "I'll go work on that paper now," he insisted as he left my office.

"Let me know if you need any help," I called after him as he raced down the hall. He replied with an affirmative grunt.

I pushed my office door until it was only slightly ajar and then returned to my desk. As I dialed Jessica's number, I could only hope that she was free to talk. When we began working together on our little project, she insisted on passing me off as a new charity client: Mr. Archibald Lorenzo of _The C&E Foundation_. I decided to follow suite and listed her number as belonging to Dr. Juanita Lopez of _C&E Pharmaceuticals_ in my cell phone's contact list . . . Just in case Sulpicia happened to go snooping through my phone book.

"Ah, Hello Mr. Lorenzo," She answered somewhat stiffly, "I take it that you revived my text."

Since she called me Mr. Lorenzo I could only assume that she wasn't in a position to talk freely. I glanced at the clock and guessed that her husband must be home. It would look very suspicious if he ever found out about his wife's association with me.

"Yes I did, and I'm quite pleased . . . things seem to be proceeding as planned," I hummed. "Are you up to reviewing another case, Doctor?" I decided to play things safe on my end as well, just in case someone might be listening in.

"Of course, this project is of vital importance," she answered formally.

"Good, I'll email you the particulars of the case. You may peruse them at your leisure and then give me your impressions later."

"That sounds fine Mr. Lorenzo," Jessica sighed with relief. "I'll be looking for that in the mail, thank you for your generosity."

"Of course, anytime Doctor." I dismissed, "Good night to you then."

"Until later Mr. Lorenzo."

**0o0o0o0o0o**

**Esme:**

The break of dawn found me enthralled in the world of Mr. Holms. Not since my days in collage had I found myself so engrossed by a book that I sat up all night reading it. Page after ingenious page spurred my vivid imagination to conjure up images of Victorian London and the mishmash of intriguing characters created by the masterful Sir Dole. At the heart of the story, of course, was the wickedly intelligent Sherlock Holmes. In his role my imagination cast none other than Carlisle; his handsome form waltzed through story after story, his enchanting voice speaking every line of dialogue.

I didn't even notice the hour until my alarm clock went off at 6 am; the sudden blaring made me jump. With a regretful sigh I closed the book, but not before marking my place with the painted feather that Carlisle gave me. I woke the girls before heading down stairs to brew a pot of coffee; I would need it if I was to make it through the day. I was just taking my first sip when Alice danced into the kitchen.

"Wow, Mom, you look like . . ."

"Watch your mouth young lady," I cautioned her before she could finish her statement.

"I was going to say," she began innocently as she poured herself a glass of OJ, "That you look like something Jake hauled out of the neighbor's trash and buried in the back yard."

"Thanks a lot," I grumped as I took another sip of the strong life giving brew.

"No problem," Alice chirped.

"Ouch," Bella observed as she and Rose came into the kitchen together, "Don't tell me Uncle Mike gave you another mega-project that kept you up all night."

"No, I was up . . . doing research," I hated lying to my girls, but how silly would it sound if I said I was up reading a book all night.

"Maybe you should call in sick," Rose offered, "I'm sure Uncle Mike won't mind."

"No, I have to take you girls to school anyway," I yawned as I finished the word _anyway_. "I'll just plod along to work."

"Mom, Rose is right … you should call in," Alice insisted seriously. "You really do look like . . . well, you look awful."

"Yeah, I can drive us to school," Rose offered and then her tone changed to become ominous, "If you don't call Uncle Mike, **_we will_**."

I was out voted and I knew it. Besides, if I showed up to the office looking as bad the girls said I did . . . Mike would likely send me home anyway. "Ok, but be careful."

I saw my girls out the door and watched as Rose drove off down the street. A wave of worry shot through my stomach, but as I closed the door I assured myself the Rose was a good driver. After I left a message on Mike's office voice mail I headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later I was crawling into my bed.

Sleep came easily to me, but my dreamscape was completely occupied by the blue eyed blond haired Dr. Cullen. When my growling stomach awakened me around noon I got up, fixed myself a sandwich, and settled into my favorite chair in the living room. As I took my first famished bite of the ham and cheese on whole wheat, my eyes immediately fell on the book I'd spent all night reading.

The events from the previous afternoon played like a favorite movie through my imagination. Once again Carlisle was gracing me with his warm smile; the mere thought of his expression sent a pleasant tingling sensation rippling through my body. I picked up the book and opened it to where I had marked my place with the painted feather; it was the most unusual yet highly romantic gift I'd ever received.

_Her_ _silver voice is the rich music of a summer bird_

I sighed as I read the first part of the quote from Longfellow. None of the men that I'd dated in my life could quote poetry to my. In spite of the fact that I had met Charles in collage, he didn't have a single romantic bone in his body and couldn't quote poetry to save his life. Looking back on it now, I really couldn't fathom what I saw in Charles; we were worlds apart.

As I closed the book and returned it to the coffee table, my eyes found another item; Carlisle's business card. My breath caught in my throat as I sat staring at the white card . . . slowly I reached for it and picked it up. The front side held the standard printed business information, on the back however, in the most elegant script I'd ever seen, were the words "feel free to call me" and his personal cell phone number. Then his words to me echoed through the corridors of my mind:

"_It's been many years since I last read Sherlock Holms, but if you care to discuss it sometime, I would be delighted . . . My cell number is on the back of the card, please feel free to call me. We can meet sometime and talk about the book." _

The tingling sensation that washed through me earlier returned with a vengeance. My heart began to pound in my ears as I continued to hold Carlisle's business card. As if it had a mind of its own, my left hand found my phone and soon both cell phone and card filled my vision. My heart was racing and my mouth went suddenly as dry as desert sand as my thumb pressed the appropriate numbers on the key pad.

In a sort of daze, I pressed send and brought the phone to my ear. What if he's busy, I thought, what if he's trying to save some poor person's life in the ER. That thought nearly made me hang up, but before I could end the call the line picked up and his enchanting voice filled my ears.

"Dr. Cullen speaking," his tone was very businesslike as he answered his phone.

I found myself unable to reply.

"Yes, hello . . . Cullen here, who is this?" his tone shifted ever so slightly from professional to a tad bit annoyed.

I was very much afraid he might hang up so I forced word to tumble from my mouth, "Uhm, Carlisle . . ."

"Esme," he sounded surprised but not angry, "are you alright?"

"Yes I'm fine, I just . . . "

"Please hold on a moment, Esme," he interrupted me gently. I knew when he took the phone away from his ear and I could hear him giving muffled instructions to someone . . . I had disturbed him and I felt awful. "Are you still there?" he asked a few seconds later.

"Yes, I'm sorry Carlisle . . . I should have known you were busy, I'll . . ."

"Nonsense," he dismissed me lightly. "I was just giving some instructions to one of the nurses. It's actually very quite around here today," he paused and then added in a cheerful tone, "what's up?"

"Well, uhm . . . well I was wondering . . . that is if you're not extremely busy. . ." spit it out Esme, I scolded myself, it was embarrassing to stumble around for words. "I was interested in taking you up on your offer . . . if you have time, of course."

There was a brief silence from Carlisle and I was afraid I had come across to boldly. "I would like that very much Esme. Are you available on Saturday, my boys are going to the movies with friends. I would rather spend a delightful afternoon discussing Holms with you as opposed to moping around my house."

"That sounds good, Jessica plans to take my girls shopping Saturday," I supplied happily. "With my Alice along, it'll be an all day affair."

"Splendid," he chuckled. "My email address is on the front of the card I gave you, shoot me an email with your address and I'll pick you up around noon. We can discuss Holms over lunch . . . I know a little bistro that serves the most incredible Greek salads."

When the phone call ended ten minutes later, I was a bit sad. As I fired up my laptop to send Carlisle a email, the reality of the situation dawned on me and my sadness instantly evaporated. I was going on a date Saturday with my dashing Dr. Dreamboat!


	18. Chapter 18

_**Note: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!**_

_**Well its too cold to do much of anything except stay inside and try to keep warm! I hate the cold, my southern blood just wasn't ment to take it.**_

**Chapter 18:**

**Aro:**

I received a reply to my email from Jessica late Wednesday night. Since the cinema was in the mall, she would get Esme's girls there on the pretense of a shopping trip. I sent a picture of Edward, Jasper and Emmett to her phone so that she would recognize them and made sure to tell her that it was customary for the boys to have a post movie lunch at the Dave and Buster's near the mall. The eatery had an arcade that even I found impressive. She assured me that she would devise some way to get the two groups together. I had no doubt about this, so far she was proving to be quite the capable field operative.

Thursday morning, dawned bright but very cold. As I made my way to the kitchen for coffee, I received another text from Jessica; _Romeo and Juliet are going to meet for lunch on Saturday. _

"Mio Dio," I exclaimed, "la sua ora!"

"It's about time for what?" Sulpicia asked as she handed me my coffee.

I kissed her cheek affectionately as I took the steaming mug from her hands. Sulpicia was the love of my life and very light of my existence, but if she ever found out about my tampering in Carlisle's love life . . . well, I would have to endure many cold lonely nights on the sofa before she forgave me. My wife looked upon Carlisle as an adopted son; when she felt I was being overly harsh or unfair with him, she took up his defense with the same fervor that she would if Alec or Jane were in my disfavor.

"Nothing my dear one," I dismissed her sweetly, "just a message from the office."

She didn't question me further, but a doubtful expression continued to cloud her features.

That evening, as I drove home from work, I pondered the monumental events that would take place on Saturday. Nothing would please me more than to be either at the mall observing the children or tagging along behind Carlisle and Esme. In short, I wanted to ensure that everything went flawlessly. Unfortunately, in either case, my being present would be impractical and downright obtrusive.

To satisfy my overly inquiring mind, I decided to have my private investigator, Felix, trail Carlisle and Esme. Carlisle had never meet Felix before so he wouldn't notice him in a crowed. I would find out Esme's address from Jessica via email or text and then forward that information to Felix.

The dilemma of the children was far trickier. If I decide to show up at the mall, even in disguise, and spy on them . . . well it was quite disturbing on a number of levels for a grown man my age to stalk teenagers; the word pedophile came to mind. I considered asking Jessica; she would already be there as she was arranging the girls outing, but I didn't want her involvement to be painfully obvious.

I needed another spy that I could rely on to be both loyal and discreet and only one person came to mind; Jane. While I loved both my children dearly, Jane had a special place in my heart. Not only was she Daddy's Little Girl, but, personality wise, she was a carbon copy of her Papa.

After dinner, I casually made my way upstairs where I found Jane in her room working on homework. She had her textbooks and assorted papers spread out over her bed and she was seated in the midst of it all with her laptop open. Long ago my daughter declared her intentions to go to medical school and her dedication to her studies left me with no doubt that she would succeed.

"_Il mio piccolo_," I called softly as I knocked on her door, "may I come in?"

"Sure, Dad," Jane answered as she put aside her laptop and gave me her attention.

I pulled the chair from her desk over beside the bed and sat down; I would have settled on the edge of her bed, but I didn't wish to disturb her work.

"Anything I can help you with?" I asked, gesturing towards her mountain of books and papers.

"Not really," she answered with a sigh, "I'm studying for finals and of course I'm working on my honors Bio paper." She paused then and chewed her lip nervously, "If you're not too busy later, you could proof my latest draft . . . you always have helpful comments."

"Certainly, _Tesoro_, I would be delighted to look over your paper."

She smiled at me in thanks and then the two of us settled into a comfortable silence. Finally I decided to broach the question that I had been pondering all afternoon. Of course, it would require revealing a portion of my plan to her, but if anyone in my family would keep my secret it was Jane.

"_Piccolo_," I began warmly, "If I asked you to do a favor for me, and keep that favor as well as any information that I share with you a strict secret . . . even from your mother and brother . . . would you be willing to do it?"

She gave me an odd look and I instantly realized how suspicious my request must sound to her; especially given these wicked times. "It's alright dear one; I would never ask anything of you that would violate the laws of man or The Church. And of course, you may say no if you feel uncomfortable with what I ask."

"OK, sure . . . what is it?"

"I need you to do a little spying for me . . . ."

**0o0o0o0o0**

**Jane:**

Dad dropped me off at one of the lesser used side entrances of the mall. I made my way quietly through the crowed; I was just another shopper going about my business. When my father first asked me to spy on Carlisle's kids I was a little shocked. His explanation of why he wished me to do this was no less disturbing, but I completely understood his motives. Everyone in our family was well aware of the constant pain that Uncle Carlisle endured in the aftermath of losing his wife. If there was even a remote chance that he could find happiness again, I was all for it.

Thought I didn't say anything on the night of the party, I really liked the way Esme's daughters put Edward and his snooty brothers in their place. I would never admit this to anyone, not even my dad, but I was especially fond of Rose; she had what my father would call "_un ottone spina dorsale"__ . . . a brass backbone. _Alice was interesting in an eccentric sort of way, but I could easily see myself hanging out with her for a little shopping. The only one I really didn't care for was Bella; her personality was a bit too mousy for my liking.

To keep Mom clear of our plans, Dad surprised her with a daylong appointment at Spa Sydell. He dropped her off at the spa before taking Alec over to Uncle Carlisle's. With the house to myself I had plenty of time to plan my disguise. I barrowed a wig from my mom, and pulled some of my more grungy clothes from the back of my wardrobe. The idea was to look as inconspicuous as possible. I finally settled on dark blue sweats a grey t-shirt and a dark hoodie; a pair of my mom's old sunglasses finished out the look.

My first stop inside the mall was the ladies room; there I removed the empty shopping bags from under my jacket. I stuffed them with wads of tissue paper before heading for Starbucks to grab a hot chocolate. Now I looked the part of a Saturday afternoon shopper. A quick text message from Jessica as we arrived in the parking lot informed us that she and the girls were in Macy's (Alec and the boys wouldn't arrive for another hour yet). I made my way to the department store to find my target . . . and to do a bit of shopping. Dad gave me a hundred and fifty dollars, cash, from his wallet and I hoped he didn't seriously expect to get it back.

I eventually found Mrs. Jessica and the girls browsing the scarves and accessories near the ladies department.

"This would be a good one for Mom," Bella held up a lilac colored silk scarf.

"Bells, mom has at least a dozen silk scarves," Alice dismissed. "We need to get her something really special for Christmas this year. Now this," Alice picked up a stunning evening bag, "This is fabulous."

"Oh, that would be great Alice," Rose insisted as she came over to get a closer look. "Aunt Jess, didn't you mention something about a charity shindig that you and Mom are going to."

"For the children's burn unit, that's right," the older woman answered. "I think that bag would be lovely . . . now we only need to convince your mother to buy the rest of the outfit to go with it."

Laughter erupted from the group as they continued to brows. By the time they reached the sales clerk, they had the hand bag as well as number of other small items and I had a gorgeous cashmere sweater.

"Hey, it's just past twelve," Mrs. Jessica observed as she glanced at her watch. "Why don't we catch the matinee . . . didn't that new movie about the teenage girl who's in love with the vampire boy open this week?"

"Oh yeah, you mean Twilight," Bella offered. "I kinda' wanted to see that."

_She would_, I thought to myself as I followed them at a discreet distance. I liked vampire movies as a general rule, but the Underworld series was more my speed.

"A movie sound great Aunt Jess," Rose answered for the group, "but I'm not sure I want to see that one. We can decide when we get to the box-office."

I followed them through the milling crowed, scanning for any sign of Alec and his friends. By my watch, they were late . . . but then again, knowing those dweebs they might have had an unexpected change of plans. That would really piss Dad off; he was looking forward to seeing these two groups get together.

In line at the box office, two couples separated me from the girls and Jessica. Even this close, they didn't recognize me. It was amazing how oblivious people could be even in a large open public space. If I were a criminal up to no good, I could have a field day at the mall.

As the line snaked along, Mrs. Jessica's phone rang. I watched as she pulled it from her purse. "Hum, it's your uncle Mike," she announced before answering the call. "Hey love, what's up?" there was a silence as Jessica listened.

"A client meeting . . . on a Saturday?" there was more silence,

"Well, how high is Seth's temperature?" The woman's expression became serious; I had seen that look on my mom's face enough times to know it was bad.

"Alright, uhm . . . give him some Motrin and have Leah keep an eye on him until I get there, it will take me about 45 minutes to make it home." She paused to listen again, "No, its OK love, these things happen. I'll just have to write the girls a rain cheek . . . see you in a few."

She hung up the phone and turned her attention to the girls. "Seth's running a fever, from the sound of it I think he has the flu . . . and Mike just got a call from a very important client who wants to meet him at the office this afternoon. I'm afraid we're going to have to cut our trip short girls . . . I'm sorry."

"How long would this meeting take?" Rose asked.

"A couple of hours I guess, why?"

"Well, you could go home and look after Seth and we could catch the movie and then maybe have lunch in the food court," Rose offered. "By then Uncle Mike should be finished with his meeting and he could pick us up on the way home."

"I don't know Rose," Mrs. Jessica seemed highly distressed at the prospect of leaving the girls alone. "Your mother entrusted you all to me, and I . . ."

"Aunt Jess, I graduate high school in May and I'll be off to college in the fall," Rose insisted. "Alice turned seventeen two months ago and even 'baby Bella' is fifteen. Were old enough to be at the mall and go see a movie by ourselves. Just don't tell Mom and we certainly won't mention it."

I was liking Rose more and more . . . definitely _un ottone spina dorsal!_

Mrs. Jessica stood staring at the girls for what seemed like ages before eh finally spoke, "Ok, but stay inside the mall and for God's sake stay together. I'll text Mike to let him know to pick you girls up. If you have any problems . . ."

"We'll call you," Alice interrupted and all three girls held up their cell phones in unison; like the three musketeers.

"OK," the older woman sighed as she gave each girl a hug. "Have fun, enjoy the movie, and be safe."

We all bought our tickets and, once inside the lobby, I followed the girls to the concession stand. They were just paying for their drinks and popcorn when a familiar snide voice echoed over the din of the crowed.

"Well, well, well if it isn't the pool hall harpy and her two sisters." Edward sneered.

Rose turned and glared at him; if looks could kill Edward would have dropped where he stood. "You know, the sign on the front door says _service animals only_; so how did you three mutts get in here? Someone should call Animal Control."

This wasn't going very well; in fact it looked as though Edward and Rose would love nothing better than to have at each other.

"I want a rematch," Edward insisted in a low growl.

"That would be boring," Rose dismissed with a fake yawn.

"Besides, we've already spent the money we took . . . I mean, that we won from you," Alice chirped happily as she held up the shopping bags. Then she began in a sing song voice, "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas . . ."

"I don't care about the money," Edward interrupted Alice's singing. "I just want a rematch!" The expression on his face was a mixture of rage and embarrassment . . . losing to Rose had seriously hurt his pride. Men were such egotistical creatures.

I ducked behind one of the cardboard lobby cutouts and fished the iphone from my pocket. Long ago I learned how to hack one of my dad's lesser used email accounts. I gave it out on most school forms and used to send 'official' message to my teachers regarding subjects that I didn't want my Dad privy to. It was also nice when I wanted to screw with people. I logged into the account and quickly sent an email from 'Dad' to Alec.

When I heard Alec's phone ring, I peeked over the cardboard cutout and watched him answer. The expression as he read the message and then looked around as if he'd just been busted was priceless.

"Hey come on Edward knock it off," Alec whined. "We came to see a movie, let's just go find our seats . . . OK."

Idiot, I though as I listened to my brother's pleading.

"Just shut up Alec," Edward growled back. "This little pool hall skank hustled me good and I want another shot at her." Then the hothead stepped in close to Rose and practically shoved his finger up her nose, "You owe it to me!"

Rose took a step back, looked Edward up and down as if he had just escaped from the mental ward and then laughed, "I don't owe you a damn thing douche bag."

When Rose turned to walk away, Edward grabbed her by the arm. "I mean it . . . I want a rematch, NOW!"

"Hey, Eddie . . . man, just let it go," Emmett stepped up and tried to reason with his enraged brother.

"Yeah, Ed, your making a scene . . . let it go before someone calls the cops," Jasper joined in as he scanned the crowed nervously. "You know what the judge said . . . one more . . ."

"I don't give a damn what the judge said, Jazz," Edward insisted as he continued to hold Rose's arm, "this little skank is going to give me a rematch . . . or I'm gonna make her sorry that she didn't."

"Whoa, is that a threat?" Alice asked. She seemed just a little shaken by the intensity of Edwards rage.

Edward glared at the pixyish Alice, "What the hell do you think, little girl?"

"OK, that's enough," Alice shook her head as she pulled her cell phone from her purse, "I'm calling the . . ."

"No Alice, its fine." Rose's words fell softly from her lips, but they were enough to stop her sister from dialing 911. "If this creep wants another ass whooping _that badly_, then how can I refuse to give it to him?" she roughly pulled her arm away from Edwards grasp. "Where and when?"

"Now, at the pool hall across the street," Edward's grunted. His eyes were almost black with the intensity of his emotions. He had a reputation for having a volcanic temper, but this was the worst I'd ever seen him.

"Wait, were not supposed to leave the mall until Uncle Mike comes to get us," Bella whimpered. I wasn't surprised at all with the mousy Miss Goody-two-shoes.

"Don't worry Bells," Rose soothed her younger sister. "I can kick this guy's ass and have us back to the mall in time to have lunch before Uncle Mike gets here."

**AN: according to the translator bot;**

**Mio Dio la sua ora! = My God, its about time!**

**_Tesoro = sweetheart_**

**___Il mio piccolo = my little one_**

**___Hate me for the cliffy, but I blame it on the weather . . . the cold makes my old joints hurt and that makes me mean!_**


	19. Chapter 19

**Note I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!**

_**Chapter 19 was suposed to be Carlisle and Esme's date followed by what is posted below. After writing the last chapter, however, I found the events that continued to unfold before my minds eye concering the Kids constituted an unstoppable force. The raw and almost explosive nature of their chemistry is very distracting and I needed to get at least this part of it out of the way before I could move on.**_

_**Sorry for the disapointment; I hope you can forgive ol' Blue and I hope you enjoy! (next chapter already in progress ;)~ )**_

**Chapter 19**

**Jane:**

I followed the two groups of teen as they made their way towards the mall's front entrance. The last time Rose played pool against Edward; she mopped the floor with him. I couldn't wait to see how this rematch turned out. This wasn't the sort of highly contrived and peaceable encounter my father had in mind, but I was sure enjoying it.

I followed them through the parking lot, being sure to keep well back. I tried to make it look as though I was headed in a different direction entirely and all the while never lose sight of my target. I stood at the bus stop as I watched the group cross the street on their way to a sleazy looking strip mall. When I was sure they wouldn't notice me, I left the bus stop and made my way up to the crosswalk and then crossed the street with the next light.

In the interim, I kept my eyes on the group; they were standing in the middle of the parking lot in front of what appeared to be a biker bar. The neon sign over the door read_** The**_ _**Hog Leg**_. It was a good thing that I wasn't the little angel that my father thought I was; for my sixteenth birthday I paid Felix a healthy sum to discreetly get me a high quality fake ID.

The group was still talking by the time I reached the parking lot. I crouched down and made my way between cars until I was close enough to hear their conversation.

". . . It's a freakn' bar meat head," Rose griped. "I'll admit, I'm no saint and I've been in my share of questionable places, but not with my sisters tagging along."

"Chill, Blondie," Edward sneered. "The owner is a friend of mine. If we go in through the back door and play on the very last table, it's cool. Besides, even the cops hate coming to this place."

"Ed, maybe it isn't such a good idea to bring the girls here," Jasper cautioned. "Things can get a little rough here, even during the day. Why don't we go down the street to **_King Pins_**, it would be a lot safer."

"Yeah Bro," Emmett chimed in, "and at **_King Pins_** I can enjoy a Gangster Burger while you guys play."

"The pool tables at the bowling alley are jacked up and you know it." Edward corrected his brothers angrily. "And let's not even talk about the ques. Embry just refurbished his tables and they're smoken'." Then he turned to Emmett and added, "I'll spring for a large order of Hog Wings with extra Harley Sauce; that should keep that stomach of yours occupied for a while."

Suddenly Emmett was grinning like an idiot, and I knew his allegiance had just shifted. There was nothing like food to win Emmett Cullen over in an argument; honestly, the boy's brain must be in his stomach.

Without another word, Edward started for the back of the building. After exchanging glances and shrugged the rest of the group followed. I lost sight of them as the rounded the corner and I made my way towards the front entrance. I walked into the dimly lit establishment, acting as if I came here all the time. In spite of my confidant air the man behind the bar called me out.

"Hey, sweet cheeks . . . you look a little on the young side; how about some ID." I smiled and nodded before digging in my purse for my wallet. As I presented my ID, I noticed Edward and the rest filing in through the back door.

"Veronica West," he read the name out loud as he scrutinized the card. He wouldn't find any flaw in it, that's why I paid Felix the big bucks to get it for me. "Looks alright, can I get you a beer Veronica, pretty ladies always get their first drink free here at **_The Hog Leg_**."

"No thank you, I'm meeting someone here to discuss selling my house . . . and I like to be sober when I talk business." I replied curtly. "Do you have soda?"

"Sure do."

"Then I'll have a Coke please."

I paid the man and made my way to the first empty table near the back of the room. I wanted to be close enough to watch the game and hear any conversation, but not so close as to draw attention. As I sat down, Jasper was racking up for the start of the match. Edward whizzed past me on his way to the bar.

"Hey Embry, how about a large order of Hog Wings with extra sauce," He called out to the man who had just scrutinized my ID.

"Eddie, you can barely polish off a regular order," then he glanced at the group of teens gathered around the very last pool table. "Oh, I see; _girls_ . . . nice Eddie. It's about time too; I was beginning to wonder about you." A sly sort of smirk curled Embry's lips, "How about a pitcher . . . on the house?"

"Cut it out Embry, we're not here on a date," Edward grunted. "The wings are for Emmett . . . big baby needs his favorite pacifier."

I wanted to laugh but managed not to.

"Sure thing Ed," Embry continued to smile as he rang up Edward's order. "I'll bring that pitcher around anyway."

"You know we're too young," Edward replied in a low tone.

Embry burst out laughing. "I wasn't talking about beer, dumb ass. I was going to bring you and your, uhm . . . crew, a pitcher of soda . . . damn son, for a smart kid, sometimes you're such an idiot."

"Whatever," Ed dismissed. After handing Embry a twenty, he stalked back past me and selected a que from the rack on the wall. "Are you ready, skank?"

"Ed, you know . . . maybe you should lighten up on the name calling," Jasper counseled quietly.

"Shut up Jazz and flip the damn coin already," he barked, and then he pointed at Rose, "Call it."

Jasper flipped the coin and Rose called heads. It was no surprise to me when she won the coin toss to start the game. She picked strips and then lined up her shot to break.

The match was half over and Rose was clearly winning when the front door opened and three rough looking guys came in. They found seats at the bar, but their eyes quickly wandered to the group of teens playing pool. When they ordered a round of beer,I stopped paying them any attention until the burliest one walked past me. I thought he was on his way to the men's room; instead he stopped to watch Rose make her next shot. She banked her ball off the side sending it cat-a-corner across the table and into the left corner pocket.

"Nice shot, Baby." The muscular stranger observed. Why don't you come join me and my friends … we'll buy you a drink and . . ."

"Back off Quil," Edward stepped protectively between the stranger and Rose. "She's with me."

"Is that right Baby, are you with Cullen," Quil ask, "Cause, let me tell you . . . your hot with a capital H, and you could do a whole lot better that this loser."

Rose looked at Quil briefly; if you didn't know what you were looking for, you would have miss the hint of shock in her eyes.

"Yeah, I'm with Edward," she purred as she sauntered up beside him and planted a quick kiss on Ed's cheek. "You ready to finish this game and get out of here, love."

"Cullen doesn't deserve a girl as hot as you," Quil grumped before lunging forward and grabbing Rose by the arm. "Come on Baby, my friends want to buy you a drink and get to know you better."

The series of events that occurred next happened so fast that my eyes couldn't follow it all. When the dust settled however, Edward had Quil on his back and pined against an adjacent pool table. He had the sharp steel blade of a folding hunting knife pressed hard against Quil's pulsing jugular vein.

"I said she's with me!" Edward snarled.

"Hey Ed, he's not worth it man," Jasper put his hand gently his brother's shoulder, but Edward shrugged him away.

"Yo, man . . . Jazz is right," Emmett jumped in. "you cut this pathetic turd and get busted for it; the judge is going to throw the book at you. It'll kill Dad to see you go the jail."

Before his brothers could manage to convince Edward to let Quil go, a loud **Click-click **sound got everyone's attention. All eyes turned to Embry, the man behind the bar. He stood confidently as he glared at Edward and Quil; in his hands, a sawed-off 12 gauge pump action shotgun . . . the real hog leg behind _**The Hog Leg**_.

"Let him go Edward," Embry commanded quietly. There was a brief moment of silence and then, Edward suddenly let Quil go: taking several steps backwards away from him.

Quil moved slowly as he got up off the table. "You made a big mistake Cullen, your ass is mine!"

"Not today, and not in my bar," Embry insisted. "Quil, you and your friends get out . . . now!"

Quil took one last hard look at Edward before storming towards the front door. His two friends soon followed him, leaving _**The Hog Leg**_ silent once more. I couldn't believe how close disaster had come; it was strangely thrilling.

"Thanks," Rose mutters.

"Don't thank me," Edward grumbled. "I've seen what Quil does to girls . . . I don't care how much I hate you, you don't deserve that; no one does."

"What do you mean," Alice asked.

Edward took a deep breath and his eyes went suddenly bleary, "There was this girl from school, Tanya. She started dating Quil last year; her parents didn't even know. Anyway, everything was great at first; he treated her real good, bought her gifts, and took her nice places. Then after about two months, he introduced her to Meth," Edward closed his eyes and shook his head. "She got hooked real good . . . started stealing from her folks to pay for her fixes. Her parents threw her out and Quil gladly took her in . . . and then he turned her out."

"You mean he's her . . . her . . ." Bella stuttered but couldn't bring herself to say the word, "he's her . . ."

"He's her pimp," Edward finished for mousy Bella. "I saw her one day, about a month ago; down by the Greyhound station trying to hustle tricks. She looked so bad, I hardly recognized her . . . from captain of the Cheerleading squad with a full ride scholarship to Mercer lined up to hollow faced, bone thin, Meth head who would do anything for her next fix . . ."

As Edward allowed his words to trail off, the bar was once again plunged into silence. I saw the faint glimmer of tears in the corner of Edwards's eyes; this girl's fate really bothered him, it was a side of A-hole Edward that I'd never seen before.

"Come on, let's finish this game and get the hell outa' here," he insisted as he put away his knife and picked up his pool que.

AN: To answer your unasked question . . . No, Blue does not spend a lot of time in bars . . . bowling alleys, yes . . . bars, no! Having grown up in Louisiana, however, and having taken my fare share of walks down Bourbon Street; I imagined the inside of Hogg Legs to be a cross between the little Jazz clubs you walk by in New Orleans and the _Double Duce_ from the movie _Road House._


	20. Chapter 20

**NOTE:** I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters they are the intellectual property of their creator!

**AN:** Hi Everyone, I'm back! So I'm now an official college graduate; BS in Biology. It took me long enough (like 20+ years), but I finally made it. Sorry for the extended hiatus, but the course work was getting the better of me and I needed the time to study.

And Now …. The DATE …. Part I?

**Chapter 20:**

**Esme:**

The girls left with Jessica around eight; they planned to stop at Cracker Barrel and fuel up on a hearty old fashioned breakfast before heading to the mall. Shopping was such draining work! It was nice that they had plans for the day, I would be less inclined to go out myself if they didn't.

I stood before the mirror in the foyer staring at the reflection looking back at me. A date, I was actually going on a date, with a man, and not one arranged for me by someone either. Poor Jess, I thought to myself as I tucked an unruly strand of hair back in place; she tries so hard to help me find the kind of happiness she and Mike have. To her credit, none of the men that she attempted to set me up with were bad; they were all well-mannered, successful, attractive, and of course single – the kind of man any woman would consider a good catch. In spite of her well-meaning intentions however, every date she arranged felt awkward. Thoughts of Carlisle flooded my mind and a smile spread across my face. In spite of my nervousness, today felt right in every way; there wasn't a shred of awkwardness at all.

The sound of a car pulling into the drive made the butterflies in my stomach stir to life again. I took one last look at myself, picked up my purse and my copy of the Holms anthology and walked towards the door. As I stepped out onto the front porch, I found Carlisle getting out of his black Mercedes. He smiled and waved and I returned the gesture before turning to lock the front door behind me.

"Allow me," he insisted as he opened the car door for me. Mike and a few other men I knew still believed in the chivalrous gesture, but I was aware that it was falling out of favor in mainstream culture.

"Thank you," I replied as I slid into the passenger's seat, "are you sure you're not a southerner, Doctor?"

He smiled warmly before closing my door. Once behind the wheel with his seatbelt fastened he answered my remarks.

"One doesn't have to be from the genteel south to behave like a gentleman, Esme."

"Where are you from," I inquired but then worried he might think I was being too noise. "If you don't mind my asking," I added hastily.

"Not at all," he replied kindly. "I was born in the England; London to be precise. My father brought me to the US from England four years after I was born. We liven in Boston and became naturalized citizens, but I spent almost as much of my childhood in London as I did state side; I went back and forth to visit family."

"Wow, I've never been outside the continental US." I could hear the giddy school girl in my voice as I commented and hoped Carlisle didn't notice. "Is you're your father still in Boston?"

A deeply sad expression clouded his face, "My parents are deceased. Mom died shortly after I was born; it was one of the reasons we immigrated. Father died during my first year at Harvard. It was a difficult time for me; my father wanted me follow his footsteps and become a minister, but I knew my calling was in medicine. We argued about it a lot and hadn't really reconciled things when he passed."

My heart was in my stomach; I felt so awful for Carlisle and even worse for bringing up such painful memories. "I'm so sorry."

"No need to be," he assured me. We were silent for a time as Carlisle maneuvered us through downtown traffic. "What about your family; where are you from, you lack the distinctive drawl of a southerner?"

The sound of his voice shattering the silence in the car sent a wave of elation through me; I was afraid my needling would ruin the entire day. "Ohio …" I supplied with a stutter," Columbus, Ohio. My parents owned a farm; corn and cows. My older brother, Tim, owns and runs it now."

"And your parents," he asked as he pulled into a parking garage.

"Like yours," I answered in a sad tone, "deceased. Dad had a heart attack a few years after I was divor …" I stopped just in time; I'd nearly mentioned my divorce. What would Carlisle say if he knew about my failed marriage? "A few years ago," I added tactfully, "Mom didn't take long to follow; they loved each other so much I think she grieved herself to death."

"That's not unusual, I see it quite often in…" he answered clinically, but then he seemed to catch himself. He paused and shook his head before speaking again, "Forgive me, I have a bad habit of getting stuck in doctor mode, even in social settings. I'm sorry about your parents."

He helped me out of the car and we left the parking garage. The afternoon was sunny, but warmer than one might expect for early November; a balmy 68 degrees. In fact, I noted a number of young folks out and about in shorts. After a pleasant stole through an older part of downtown Atlanta, we stopped outside a turn of the century brick building that appeared, at one time, to have been some sort of factory. Many of the older buildings in this part of the the downtown area had been transformed of late; going from decaying vestiges of industrialism to revitalized and vibrant working and living spaces. This particular structure housed shops, restaurants, and even a nightclub on the ground floor while providing apartment space on the upper floors.

I tore myself away from admiring the renovations in time to notice Carlisle opening the door for me. As I entered the establishment I took notice of it's name, _The Cotton Gin_. Of course, the name made perfect sense as I realized that the building had once been home to a textile mill.

"I thought you'd approve," Carlisle leaned in and whispered as the waiter showed us to our table, "I spent hours scoring the internet for an eatery with exquisite food and amazing vintage architecture."

"I'm impressed," I replied as I settled myself into the chair Carlisle pulled out for me, "this place is truly amazing. Any idea which firm was responsible for …" When I realized where the comment was going, I clamped my mouth shut in disgust.

"What's the matter?" Deep concern clouded his features and I could tell he was trying to work out what might be bothering me.

"Oh everything's fine; I just realized a habit that we have in common." I answered, still feeling a bit mortified.

"And that would be?"

"We both have a tendency to engage in shop talk," I admitted, "even in social situations."

His concerned expression softened into a glowing smile, which was followed by a warm yet hearty chuckle. In that moment, my own anxiety melted away and I felt more relaxed than I had in any man's presence.

His smile still lingered on his lips as he extended his hand across the table, "A truce then; no more shop talk, from either of us, for the duration of the afternoon."

"Agreed," I took his hand and we shook on it.

"But now," he sighed as he picked up the menu, "the question of what we will talk about presents itself … since we have chosen to eliminate work from our discourse."

"Well," I began as I looked over my menu, "Have you ever been here before?" I was hoping, if he had, we could talk about the food.

"No," he replied sadly, "I'd never even heard of the place before until I found it online." Then his eyes wandered to a nearby table where a group of college students seemed to be enjoying lunch and a lively conversation. "But the food looks good and the place is pretty busy. Bad restaurants are like bad doctors; word gets around and you soon find yourself …" he paused, looked at me sadly, and apologized, "Sorry, I think I broke our truce."

"No," I dismissed insistently, "I would call that an observation, not shop talk." I was relieved when his smile returned.

The waiter chose that moment to reappear with ice water, silver ware, and a pen poised to take our order. "What are the young people over there having," Carlisle asked as he pointed the group of collage kids.

"The Black and Gold special, sir," he answered proudly, "It's half price when Georgia Tech wins a home game; we won last night against Virginia Tech."

"Is it any good?"

"Oh, yes ma'am," his reply was emphatic, "It's our best seller … even when Tech's not playn' a home game. The president of the university comes in and has it regularly."

When our waiter set off again he had two orders for the Black and Gold special and two Cokes. Carlisle and I were once again alone and groping for something, other than hospitals and architecture, to discuss. I knew, deep down that this was going to be a wonderful afternoon, but breaking the ice was harder than I thought it would be. A thought occurred to me then and I decided to run with it.

"The other night at Aro's party, you mentioned boys," I began as I sailed into uncharted waters, "you have children?"

"Yes, three children to be precise … three boys," his tone was pleasant and it seemed that I'd found the perfect discussion topic, "and you?"

"Girls," I said with a broad smile, "three lovely girls."

"You know, come to think of it, I think our respective broods have meet," he insisted thoughtfully, "at Aro's party. Edward mentioned something about being trounced at billiards by a young woman with long blond hair and …"

"Rose," I interrupted, feeling the flush of embracement in my cheeks, "that would be Rose. Unfortunately, she picked up a few bad habits from her former boyfriend; hustling pool is one of them."

"Don't apologize," he insisted with a chuckle. "Before we moved here, Edward was hanging out with a local ruffian in Forks. He too learned to hustle pool, and he'd become quite good at it I might add; routinely beat grown men at the game. I rather enjoyed hearing how your Rose took him down a notch." The he added in a clandestine whisper, "Don't tell him that though."

"It's our little secret," I giggled.

As our food arrived, another though occurred to me; if he had three boys, there had to be a Mrs. Carlisle Cullen in the picture somewhere. I glanced discreetly at his left ring finger. There was no wedding band, but the fading ghost of it having once resided there remained. Three possibilities presented themselves to me: he removed the ring and was cheating on his wife, he and his wife were separated or divorced, or he was a widower.

The first option made my insides crawl; the vows of marriage were sacred and binding in the eyes of God. I would never knowingly help a man commit adultery. Separated or divorced; well I was in no position to lay judgment against him for that, but I wondered at the circumstances leading to it. The last possibility made me physically shudder; no one deserved to suffer the loss of someone they truly loved. And those poor boys …

"Esme," Carlisle's concerned voice drew me from my thoughts, "Are you alright?"

"A chill in the air," I dismissed with a smile, "didn't you feel it?" Before he could answer, I let loss with another question, "How old are your boys? I would hate it if Rose hustled a seventh grader."

"No worries there," he dismissed. "Edward is a high school senior and his brothers, Jasper and Emmett, are in the ninth and eleventh grades."

"Young men then," I nodded approvingly, "not boys at all."

"And your girls?"

"Little women, really," I answered after swallowing a sip of Coke, "Rose is a senior, like your Edward, and I would guess that Bella and Alice would be close to Jasper and Emmett's ages. They go to Saint Agnes high school."

"The catholic all girl's school?"

"You've heard of it?"

"Of course, it's one of the finest privet high schools in Atlanta," he insisted, "Aro wanted to send his daughter there, but, well, it upset his son Alec too much. They're twins you see."

I nodded my understanding.

"How long have you been in Atlanta," it was his turn to ask a question. "I'm a relative new comer," he supplied encouragingly, "the boys and I have only been here for four years."

"I moved here with the girls three weeks after Bella's first birthday." I watched his face as I answered, trying to gauge his reaction; would he asked about the girl's father? "I guess that would be about thirteen years ago."

"You're practically natives then," he joked instead. Needless to say, I dodged a bullet and was relieved.

"Well, I do catch myself using _**ya'll**_ more often than I'd like."

Carlisle and I both laughed so hard that the collage kids a few tables away started to stare at us. Finally, we managed to get a handle on our amusement and ate quietly for a time. Every time I looked up from my plate I found Carlisle gazing at me as if he were trying to figure something out; I was a Rubik's cube and he was determined to solve me. I could almost see the gears turning inside his mind as he watched me.

I had my suspicions about what he was trying to work out in that beautifully brilliant brain of his. The question was inevitable; it was a take on the old _'what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this'_. How had a woman like me ended up living in the big city with three girls … alone? The bullet that missed me moments earlier was back again, and this time I doubted my ability to escape unscathed. Would he hate me, I wondered, would he think less of me because of my divorce.

"Esme," Carlisle began after wiping his mouth. The tension radiating off him was palpable and I knew this was it. Suddenly I felt sick. "Forgive me, I've been trying to think of a tactful way to broach this question, but for the life of me I can find one." He paused and looked gravely at me, as if he were about to diagnose me with some fatal disease. "Well I was wondering … well that is …I was going to ask …"

"I'm divorced Carlisle," I told him quietly. As the words rolled off my tongue I felt as if the weight of the world had just been lifted from me. That sense of relief was short lived however, as it was followed instantly by sickening dread. I couldn't even look up from my plate as I continued to speak. "That must sound horrible, but I had to get away from Charles. He wasn't a nice man; he would have killed me eventually … or one of the girls." I felt tears begin to well in my eyes. In spite of knowing that I'd done the right thing, even after fourteen and a half years, I still felt embarrassed about my past.

To my surprise he reached across the table and took my hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He continued to hold my hand for several minutes. When he next spoke there was an unfamiliar edge in his voice.

"He hurt you?"

I could only nod.

"That is unforgivable."

When I finally glanced up at him, cold blue fire danced in his eyes. "No man has a right to lay hands on a woman," he muttered, a hint of his long buried English accent escaped to accompany his words. "It is absolutely unforgivable."

**Carlisle:**

I'd seen it all too often in the ER; some poor woman brought in after her abusive mate beat her to a bloody pulp. The sight of such trauma always elicited the same predictable reaction in me. It made me livid! And now to hear that some despicable brute had dared to lay his hands in violence upon this kind and gentle woman … to discover that Esme had been the victim of an abusive husband. Furry welled up within me like magma from the core of a volcano. In spite of the fact that I absolutely loathed violence in every from, if this man, Charles, had been within reach at that moment, I would have given him taste of his own medicine.

"Carlisle," Esme uttered my name in a panic.

The boys often told me that my countenance could turn quite sever when anger griped me. I made a concerted effort to soften my expression and remove the bitter edge from my voice as I spoke.

"Forgive me," I soothed as I reached for her hand, "I routinely see the consequences of domestic brutality in the ER and my reaction to it is always the same; it stirs a beastly rage with in me that I must work very deliberately to control.

"It is unfortunate indeed, that you meet and married a man who caused you so much pain. Those who treat women with such heartless disregard are the worst of my kind. I extend my deepest apologies to you."

"You have an amazing way with the English language, Carlisle," she breathed as if somehow relieved. I, on the other hand, found myself trying to hide a blush caused by her observation.

Her relief soon faded as her brows knitted together and I watched with morbid fascination as the question that I had been dreading formed itself on her lips. I should have guessed that it was coming. A man, alone with three sons; where was their mother?

Perhaps she wished to know because she thought that I would judge her harshly for being a divorcee; nothing could be further from the truth. Perhaps, like me, she simple suffered from a bad case of curiosity. For whatever reason however, I knew the question was coming. Before I could staunch the coming tide with the appropriate soothing words, she was speaking again.

"Are you divorced as well," she asked shyly.

As the words fell from her lips the old familiar pain came rising up like a tsunami to engulf me. Becca's face danced before my mind's eye and I wondered why I was here, in this place, with this woman. I was thoroughly disgusted with myself. _What a cad I have become_, I mused.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized quietly. I had been silent too long; she must have assumed that I was offended by her question. The ring of hurt in her voice was heart breaking and it pulled me free of the cold dark grip of my internal agony.

"No, that's quite alright," I replied with a sad sigh. "I'm a widower," I finally managed. "My wife, Rebecca, died five years ago; cancer."

Her eyes dropped to the table and I noticed her trying to get a handle on her emotions. When she finally looked back up at me, tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.

"Cancer," she began and then paused as she fought to gain control of her emotions. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Carlisle … you and those poor boys, all alone …"

A dreary cloud settled itself over our table as we continued our meal; neither of us spoke, but the rawness of our individual tragedies was evident in the silence. _We're two wounded souls_, I found myself thinking sadly. This thought was quickly followed by one of my father's favorite scriptural jabs, _"Physician, heal thy self."_ In spite of considerable skill, I couldn't heal the brokenness inside me; there was no drug, no treatment, no surgery that could fix a broken heart.

And what of poor Esme; the faultless victim of a brutish husband? The look of terror on her lovely face as she told me about her ex-husband made me cringe. I could tell, by her expression, that she expected me to shun her for being divorced and I found myself fighting the urge to snatched her into my arms and hold her. I sighed as I took another bite of food, it would be nice if I could somehow recovered the mood we'd had before I foolishly opened the _spousal_ can of worms. I'd actually been enjoying myself. Now we were cast into a somber silence as we finished our meal and I was certain that I would never enjoy Esme's company again. I would take her home of course; I was nothing if not a gentleman.

_I tried Becca_, I thought loudly into whatever void thoughts drifted off into. _I tried_.

The silence was broken in that moment by Esme giggling. "What on earth …" I began, but caught myself as her giggling grew more intense.

"Mind sharing the joke?" I could certainly do with a good laugh.

"We're two peas in a pod, do ya know that?" she replied, still giggling.

"Well, yes … a pod … I suppose …"

"You don't see," she interrupted my stammering, "We're both transplants to Atlanta, we both have great kids that we love, we both have a tendency towards shop-talk even in social situations, and we both came here today half hoping to have a great time and half petrified at the prospect of … dare I say it … being on a DATE.

"I was so worried that you would despise me because of my failed marriage to Charles … ," she stopped in mid-statement and looked at me quizzically, "you don't do you … despise me I mean?"

"Absolutely not," I insisted as my accent once again made an appearance. "In fact, had I known you then, I would have strongly urged you to leave the brute."

I took a deep breath and continued; it was my turn for confessions. "If it's any consolation, this is the first_** 'date**_' I've been on since my wife died. Coming here I actually felt guilty; as if I were somehow cheating on her. Silly, isn't it."

"No," she insisted quietly, "It's sweet. You must really have loved her."

"I did," I replied quietly_. I still do_, I thought into the void.

"_I know,"_ Becca's voice whispered softly against my mind.

"Esme, do you like the outdoors?" I asked on a whim. I hadn't planned on our encounter lasting beyond having lunch, but suddenly I wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon with the enchanting Esme Platt.

"My father used to take me hunting and fishing when I was a girl, and we … the girls and I … go camping with Mike and Jess and their kids."

"Have you ever taken the sky tram to the top of Stone Mountain?"

"No." she answered with a giggle.

"Would you care too," I asked, giving her my most winning smile. "The view is spectacular."

"Yes Carlisle, I think I would like that very much."

_**AN**_: Yes there is a Part 2 to this; Part I got off to a rocky start. But first I believe I left the children in a bit of trouble … off the reservation at that biker bar with Jane snooping. I wonder what happens next.


	21. Chapter 21

**NOTE:**** I do not own or have rights to **_**Twilight**_** or its characters. The material is the sole intellectual property of its creator!**

**Chapter 21**

**Jane:**

It was difficult to watch the way Rose manhandled Eddie at pool. Difficult yet masterful; whoever taught her to play had created a first class shark. They were on their second game when the flashing blue lights shown through the grimy front window. _Shit_, I thought as not one, but two police officers walked calmly in the front door.

"Afternoon Embry," the taller more massive officer greeted the man behind the counter cheerfully.

"Good afternoon Officer Black," Embry replied in a more frigid tone.

"Come on Embry," the officer frowned as he spoke, "Your place has been on my beat since I was a rookie, and you opened. It's Billy, remember."

"It's Billy when you come in after hours for a brew," Embry answered the officer plainly, "It's Officer Black when you're here on business … and you _are_ here on business, aren't you?"

"We got an anonymous tip that a group teens was hanging out in your place," the Officer's eyes shifted to Edward, Rose, and the rest of the crew. "I'm disappointed Embry, you know better."

"You're anonymous tip didn't happen to come from Quil did it?" Edward asked from the back of the room. If they had been quicker, they could have escaped out the back before the cops came in the front.

"Cullen!" Officer Black exclaimed as a broad grin spread across his face. "Judge Lancaster is going to be thrilled to see you again. You know she's gonna throw the book at you this time."

"Did Quil happen to mention that he and his buddies made indecent advances on the young lady there," Embry asked nodding towards Rose. "You know what he did to that other girl."

The officer sighed heavily, his effort to keep the identity of the informant a secret was failing miserably. "It's called _an anonymous tip_ for a reason," then he turned to his partner, "let's read them their rights, then we can take the lot down to the station and sort this out. I'll put Edward and his brothers in my car, you transport the young ladies."

I watched the next few moments with an odd sense of regret; while I wasn't really fond of Edward and his brothers, their father was a nice guy and he was going to be devastated when the cops called. Officer Black and his partner put all six of them in handcuffs and led them outside. As I listened to the squad cars pull away I fished my phone from my purse and hit **1** on my speed dial.

"Hey Dad, I think we have a problem."

**Aro:**

A police station was not where I intended to spend my Saturday afternoon, yet here I was. I prepared to leave the house as soon got off the phone with Jane. As I put on my coat and hat, I told an innocuous lie to my beloved wife; an emergency at the Hospital, I'd said before kissing her cheek. It is the job of a good husband and father to keep his family protect from the ugliness that inhabits the wider world. This is especially true in my case, as my business dealings have not always been, shall we say, above board. I had kept many ugly truths from Sulpicia and I would continue to do so until I took my last breath. My beloved had a tender spot in her heart for Carlisle's children and she did not need to know that they were in trouble once again.

I had certain connections with the local constabulary and I hoped that I had arrived in time. If I could speak to Chief Crowley before the children were brought in and processed I might be able to keep the incident out of official records. Not to mention that I would have the children indebted to me. The single most important lesson that I took away from my old life in Chicago was that having others beholding to you was a powerful and profitable thing.

I strode confidently up the front steps of the precinct building and in through the imposing set of double doors. The officer on duty at the security checkpoint recognized me and waved me through and so, I proceeded straight to the front desk. The young officer posted there was new and he watched my approach with caution. Strange, did I actually look that dangerous?

When I reached his post, he eyed me warily. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"_Grazi_," I answered offering what I hoped was a smile, "I am here to see Chief Tyler Crowley Please."

"Do you have an appointment?" the officer asked.

My left eyebrow shot up and I looked sternly at him; it was the same look I would have given one of my children for being insolent. "I do not need an appointment," I informed him curtly.

"Chief Crowley is on a conference call with the Mayor," the young man replied undaunted. "You'll have to …"

"Listen to me," I dropped my voice as I interrupted him. This more sinister tone usually got results, "You will go back there and tell Chief Crowley that Aro Veracini is here to see him." When the youth didn't respond to my command I scowled and added in a sharper tone, "Move … now!"

The last bit had the desired effect and I watched with satisfaction as the young officer scurried off like a frightened jack rabbit. He was gone for all of five minutes before he returned looking quite beside himself.

"The Chief will see you," he stammered, "right this way."

"_Grazi_," I replied quietly. Truly, I do not enjoy becoming unpleasant with people; however, if the need arises I have no qualms about doing so.

The youth led me through a maze of halls before we arrived at Chief Crowley's office. The door was open and the chief stood as I entered.

"Aro, always a pleasure," Tyler greeted me pleasantly and offered me his hand in friendship. I knew the truth of course; he was not at all pleased to see me. He owed me several favors, but to his credit, he was never one to be rude.

"Thank you," I replied politely as I took a seat, "you will forgive me for showing up unannounced and interrupting your meeting with the Mayor."

"Not at all," he dismissed, "It was more of a butt chewing session anyway. What can I do for you?"

Cutting to the chase was Tyler's style. Sometimes I found it annoying as I preferred a more personable way of conducting business. Presently however, with the fate of the young ones still uncertain, getting straight to the point was likely the best course of action.

"Have six miscreant youths been brought into your precinct? Three boys and three girls; all from a bar called _The Hog's Leg_."

"I think I remember hearing some chatter about them," his reply was guarded, "they're in route now. Why?"

"I know these young ones," I began. Now the game would ensue, and hopefully, if I played my cards correctly, I could call in a favor or two and have this mess forgotten. "The boys are the sons of Carlisle Cullen, a colleague and personal friend of mine and the girls are the daughters of my architect, Esme Platt."

"The young woman who gave that presentation at your last party" he asked with more than a little surprise in his voice. "She seemed like a classy lady, a shame her daughters decided to run with Edward and his brothers."

"Well that's the thing you see; I want to stage a sort of intervention for these young ones."

"Edward's headed for more than an intervention." Tyler chuckled dryly, "Judge Lancaster promised the next time he ended up in her courtroom, he was bound for jail. She's not the kind of judge you mess with Aro, she means business."

"Of course, I understand," I soothed, "But I don't want to see Edward throw his life away; it would simply devastate Carlisle. And now he's gone and gotten three innocent girls into trouble as well."

"What do you want me to do Aro, they broke the law." Tyler seemed tired suddenly; perhaps he was thinking of the heart break such a situation would cause him if he were in Carlisle's place.

"Give them to me." I insisted in the same sinister tone I used on the front desk clerk. "Keep this little indiscretion off the record, and let me handle this _my way_."

"I've released Edward into his father's custody before and …"

"I am not his father," I interrupted. "Carlisle is my dearest friend, but he is far too soft. I do not have this problem. When I am done with Edward and his brother, they will be model citizens. As for the young ladies, a sobering reality check is never out of season."

We continued to discuss the situation for about thirty minutes and by the time I left Tyler's office everything was arranged. Now I waited for the arrival of the young ones. The experience they would be given as they arrived at the police station would appear realistic, but they would not actually be 'booked'. None of this would appear on any official records and neither Carlisle nor Esme would ever know about the matter. More importantly, however, these young ones would now be indebted to me and that would give me a certain amount of leverage. To insure this, I'd taken the liberty of quickly drawing up some impromptu papers for the young ones to sign. It would all be very official.

"Dr. Veracini." A female officer called my name and I turned away from the window I'd been absently staring out of to see what she wanted, "They're ready for you sir."

I followed her through the maze of halls to a large conference room; I'd wanted all six of them together and this was the only space that would accommodate such a crowd. I opened the door and all eyes in the room instantly fell on me. I was welcomed by a chorus of voices uttering my name and it took me several moments to call the group to order. Edward and his brothers looked both surprised and apprehensive at my arrival. The girls on the other hand seemed frightened by the entire course of events leading up to this point, and my entering the room brought them a measure of relief.

"Please, sit," I instructed them as I took my place at the head of the table. The girls obeyed me without hesitation, the boys on the other hand continued to glare at me and stand defiantly in the corner. To one group I appeared to be a savior and to the other I was a devil not to be trusted. I wondered if the dynamic would shift once I'd made my proposal.

"Gentlemen," I addressed them directly, "would you join us at the table please." After a few more tense moments they complied.

I offered the assembled group my most charismatic smile as I surveyed them. This was an unfortunate yet fortuitous situation; unfortunate for the young ones that they had been arrested, yet fortuitous for me as I could now exert more control over their volatile interactions.

"Excuse me, Dr. Veracini," Alice spoke shyly, "Where's our Mom … did she send you."

"A very good question my dear," I cooed as I focused my smile in her direction. "And to answer it; no, your mother did not send me. Likewise," I turned to the boys, "neither did your father.

"Your parents do not know where you are at this moment or how much trouble you could potentially be in. This is a very serious situation," here I paused and glared at Edward, "It is more serious for_ some_ of you than for others."

"So the cops called you instead of our folks," Edward sneered, "I find that hard to believe."

"Edward, Edward, Edward," I repeated his name in a disappointed sigh as I shook my head. "How I came to know of your collective indiscretion is unimportant. I am here and I am willing to offer the lot of you a way out of the unpleasant mess that you've gotten yourselves into."

"How do you plan to do that?" Edward replied, still maintaining his hostile air.

"A better question," Jasper took up, "is how much is it going to cost us?"

A startled moan came from my immediate left and I turned to find Isabella seated there and looking terribly pale. It would seem that she and her delightful mother reacted in a similar way to extreme stress. I tried to afford her some measure of reassurance with my smile.

"We aren't rich Dr. Veracini," Isabella finally managed, "we can't afford to pay you."

I reached over and took one of Isabella's hands between mine, "_Relax il mio bambino_," I soothed, "there is no need for such distress." She was trembling and I could feel her pulse racing through the clammy skin of her hand; this made me more than a little concerned about her. "You need to calm down," I insisted in a more professional tone. "Rosalie, would you please get your sister some water," I inclined my head in the direction of the water cooler in the far corner.

It would not do for young Isabella to pass out, so I took the cup of water from Rosalie and poured some of it onto my handkerchief. I used the moist cloth to wipe the skin of Isabella's face and neck while insisting that she drink the rest of the liquid. When she calmed down and her color returned, I felt quite relieved. The last thing I needed was to rush one of Esme's daughters to the Emergency Room and then have to explain the mishap to her and Carlisle.

"_Caro_," I began, still holding Isabella's hand. I looked deeply into her eyes as if she were the only one in the room, "You need not concern yourself with money." Now I allowed the focus of my gaze to widen and encompass Alice and Rosalie, "You have been to my home; do I strike you as a man in need?"

A chorus of no's rose up from the girls which I quieted with one raised hand, "Enough," I whispered. I afforded Isabella another reassuring smile and patted the back of her hand lightly before releasing it. "I am here to help you, not to fill my pockets with money stolen from children."

"But there _**is **_a catch," Edward grumped, "what's in it for you?"

I glared harshly at Edward; it would not do for him to further upset young Isabella. However, perhaps he was right … perhaps it was time to get down to business. I gave Isabella one last concerned glance before opening the manila folder on the table in front of me.

"Yes Edward, you are correct," I sighed, "I am a generous man, but I am also a business man. I consider the six of you as _miei cari_, my dear ones, and I wish to help you … but my assistance will not be free.

"I have here a contract," I turned to Isabella and handed her the stack of papers, "Would you kindly take one and pass the rest on." She nodded and did as I requested.

When everyone had a copy, I continued. "You may read it if you wish, but in summary, it basically states that I will insure that you will be released from here today, that this incident will not appear on your records, and your parents will not be informed about any of this … for all intense and purposes, this day never happened."

"And in return," Rosalie inquired.

I smiled approvingly at the eldest of Esme's daughters; Rosalie's beauty masked her shrewdness. "In return, the six of you will work diligently at getting along with one another." Then I turned my attention to Edward, "no more nefarious activities," I said while holding his gaze. "And you will make yourselves available to me. Simple, yes?"

"Available to you … what's that mean?" It was Alice who asked the question and her expression was one of shock.

I considered the statement I'd just made and could see where it would cause some distress for the girls. A grown man, old enough to be their father, asking that they be _available to me_; in retrospect, I had to admit that it made me sounded suspiciously like a child molester.

"_Piccolo,"_ I addressed Alice directly, "I assure you I am not a pervert. Though I can understand your apprehension given the vagueness of _'make yourselves available to me'._" I paused and looked each of the girls directly in the eyes before continuing, "Let me assure you I would never ask any of you to do anything that would violate the laws of man or the laws of God. I am a father with a daughter after all."

My assurance seemed to set them at ease once again. I was glad of this; trust was a delicate thing that, once broken, was difficult to mend.

"What about breach of contract," Jasper asked. "What happens if we don't comply with the agreed terms?"

"Have you considered a career in law, my boy?" I asked in an effort to lighten the mood, but my attempt at levity failed.

"What do you want me to say," I finally sighed. "Do you want me to threaten you … is that it? Maybe tell you that, if you break our little agreement, I'll send Nick the Knuckle around to break your knee caps … is that what you want?" The room remained silent. Of course, in spite of actually having such dark connections, I would never threaten these young ones in that manner. "Will I tell your parents, perhaps? No, that would implicate me. But what _**I can**_ _**and will**_ do is make your lives quite miserable … there, is that satisfying to you?"

"What if you breach the contract?" It was Rosalie again. I was really starting to admire this one.

"I won't," I assured her.

"How do we know that," Alice insisted. "We don't really know you that well after all."

"Alright ladies," I was beginning to enjoy the emergence of their more confidant nature, "You may name the consequences to befall me, should I fail to uphold my end of the bargain."

"Fifty thousand dollars," Rosalie insisted flatly, "for each of us, should you break your end of the deal."

"Fifty thousand … a piece," I stammered, "That's a lot of money _caro_, might I ask why you've chosen a three hundred thousand dollar fine as my punishment?"

"When Mom punishes us for misbehaving, she hits us where it hurts," Rosalie replied. "Privileges are important to teenaged girls so she confiscated our cell phones, grounds us, suspends our allowance. You're a rich doctor with a fancy house; I'm guessing a hit to the wallet would hurt you."

I had to work very hard to suppress the smile that struggled to make its way to my lips. _Mio Dio_, this girl would make one hell of a business partner! "Very well, I accept your terms … if they are agreeable to Edward and his brothers."

"Fifty thousand a piece," Edward rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "I could work with that. Agreed."

"Then it is settled," I concluded. "I will ensure that all of you have copies of everything you've singed here today as well as an addendum reflecting the terms should the contract be breached by either party. Expect it by Friday."

_**AN: Don't you just love Aro! I found the perfect inspirational music to listen to when writing him: Ebla by E.S. Posthumus.**_

_**BTW, did any of you notice that we've lost someone? When everyone arrived at the mall, Alec was with Edward and his brothers. Then he got a prank phone call … and then he seemed to just disappear. Oops! With such a large cast, I knew it would happen eventually. But don't feel bad if you missed it, I've been gone from this story for two years and didn't notice until I re-read it.**_


	22. Chapter 22

**NOTE:**** I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator.**

_**Ya'll are gonna' love me! Enjoy!**_

**Chapter 22**

**Esme:**

We finished our lunch and made the drive out I-20 eastbound to Stone Mountain Sate Park. The girls and I came out here every Fourth of July for the fireworks display and laser lights show. The girls had been here several times on school field trips, and had hiked to the top. But I, _personally_, had never been to the top of the mountain. Why I asked myself, as the Big Rock came into view, had I not gone to the summit before. _Because you're scared of heights_, the little twelve year old living inside of me replied. She was right of course; I had been acrophobic ever since I fell out of that stupid apple tree and broke my leg. Now I was faced with the challenge of going up Stone Mountain, on the Summit Skyride no less, with a man I didn't want to disappoint.

How, Esme Ann Platt, do you manage to get yourself into these predicaments, I wondered as we pulled into a parking space. Carlisle cut the engine and flashed me the most gorgeous smile imaginable. It was like summer sunshine flooding through a magnificent old stained glass window; bright, beautiful and magical. In that moment, ten thousand butterflies took flight all at once inside me and I thought that I would explode from sheer joy. If only I could freeze time and bask in the glory of Carlisle's smile forever.

"You didn't happen to bring a sweater along did you" Carlisle asked as he opened the car door and helped me out.

"No, I didn't," I answered as I took note of the breeze stirring in the tree tops. "It's nice down here, but I bet with the wind, it's chilly at the top. Maybe we should come back when it's warmer."

"Oh I think I have a turtle neck or two in the trunk," He answered with a smile, and then he popped the trunk and started digging. "That is, if you don't mind wearing one of mine," he corrected as he peeked at me from behind the open trunk top.

He sounded so excited about all this, how could I let him down. "Oh no, that's fine."

"Splendid." It was that smile again; God, it would be my undoing, I would do absolutely anything to catch a glimpse of it. "Here," his voice grabbed my attention and stopped me from staring at him like an idiot. I found him offering me an expensive looking blue-grey wool turtleneck. He had put on one of those lined flannel shirts; it made him look like a cross between a Greek god and Paul Bunyan.

I took the sweater and slid it on; to my surprise it fit as if it were made for me. And the smell … his amazing manly scent permeated every thread of it and wafted up to fill my nose. I hoped that he didn't expect to get this sweater back.

"Come on," He offered me his hand and I eagerly accepted it.

We strolled slowly through the park towards the Skyride station. I knew he set the leisurely pace deliberately because of my ankle. Unfortunately, it was a bit like Chinese water torture; I knew what was coming and waiting on the inevitable was agony. I tried to distract myself with people watching and soaking in the beauty of the park, but it wasn't much help. Eventually, my thoughts returned to my upcoming ordeal. It didn't help matters that I could see the thread like cables draped between the steal towers as they stretched up the side of the mountain towards the summit. With the gondolas dangling at regular intervals from the cable, the whole affair reminded me of the paper garden lanterns my grandmother used for summer party decorations_. And we'll be inside one of those lanterns_ my inner twelve year old reminded me. I shuddered involuntarily.

"Esme, are you alright," Carlisle asked. We had arrived at the tram station's ticket counter.

"Fine," I lied, "just a bit of a chill."

He purchased our tickets and we took our place in line. In front of us a group of about seven young people joked and talked. When the next available gondola came into the station I knew I didn't want to go up with a crowd; just in case I panicked. The conductor motioned us forward to load with everyone else but I balked.

"Come on," Carlisle encouraged, but I continued to hold back.

"Could we wait for the next one please," I begged in a whisper.

"Certainly," he replied before indicating our desire to wait to the conductor.

When the next gondola arrived, we were the only ones on the platform. I whispered my thanks to God as we stepped into the cabin. The doors shut and the gondola began to move; instantly, I felt my body tense and my heart began to pound. Thankfully Carlisle moved us to the center of the cabin where a sturdy steal post rose up from the floor and merged with the ceiling; I edged as close to it as possible.

I suppose the view was stunning, but I didn't take the time to appreciate it. As The Gondola continued its slow climb, it began to rock and sway gently in the breeze and I shut my eyes. Others might have found the rocking motion soothing or even exhilarating, but I found it horrifying. I was certain that the movement would cause the cable to snap at any second and send us plummeting over eight hundred feet to our deaths. I was sweating now in spite of the chill in the air, my heart was racing, my mouth was dry, and I felt faint. Instinctively I grabbed the metal pole and clung to it for dear life. This, unfortunately, only made things worse for me, as I could now feel the humming vibration of the tram's roof top motor being telegraphed through the pole and into my body.

"Esme," Carlisle grabbed me by the arm, he sounded almost as scared as I felt. "Esme, what's wrong," he demanded urgently.

I swallowed the bile that had come up from my stomach, and prayed I wouldn't throw up before it was all said and done. "I … I … I'm … afraid … of … heights," I finally managed to stammer.

"You're what," he exclaimed. I could hear anger, fear, and concern all swirling in his voice at once, "Good God, woman, what were you thinking."

After a moment, he embraced me from behind, and began to whisper soothingly to me. I took advantage of the opportunity and let go of the metal pole, twisted myself around, and wrapped my arms in a death grip around his body.

"It's alright Esme," he soothed as I pressed my face into his shirt, "It' alright. I'll hit the emergency override and …"

"No!" I squealed. If he hit the emergency override, the tram would come to a complete stop and we'd be left hanging there until the ground crew could put the tram in reverse and bring us back down.

"Esme, sweetheart, you don't have to endure this," he assured me. "If I had known you were acrophobic, I would never have suggested …"

"I wanted to come," I muttered against his chest, "You were so excited about showing me the view and I didn't want to disappoint you."

"You could never disappoint me," he insisted as he tightened his embrace. I felt him press a kiss into the top of my head, "Besides," he added with a chuckle, "you're not seeing much of the view with your eyes closed and your face buried in my shirt."

I didn't reply, but he was right.

"We're almost to the top now," he informed me, "it shouldn't be more than a few minutes or so. I'll have the attendant put us on the next car going back down."

"Do we have too," I whimpered. I was not looking forward an instant replay of my current misery.

"I'm sorry honey, but unless you wish to hike down," his tone was grave as he spoke, "which I would strongly discourage on that ankle. The Skyride is the only way up or down from the summit."

"Well, maybe we could … you know … take a break," I managed, "you know, before … before going back."

"There's a gift shop and concession stand at the top," he told me. I felt the car begin to slow on approach to the platform. "I suppose we can hang out there for a little while, if you like."

"I'm sorry Carlisle," I croaked miserably from the folds of his shirt as the car came to a halt.

He planted another kiss on the crown of my head before answering me, "It's alright Esme, I'm not angry with you. However, I think we need to talk."

I felt much better once my feet found solid ground again. It was strangest thing. I knew that I was on a mountain top as the vista that surrounded me was one of open sky, a distant skyline, and the horizon for as far as the eye could see; it was truly a breath taking view. Now that I was actually up here, my fear of heights seemed to ebb away.

The gift shop and concession stand was only a short walk from the Skyride station and Carlisle shepherded me towards it. Once inside, he insisted I take a seat while he went to the concession counter. He returned a short time later with two steaming cups; the alluring scent of chocolate filled my nose as he set a cup before me.

"I hope you like cocoa," he said as he slid into the seat across from me.

"I'm addicted to chocolate," I admitted and then took a tentative sip. "It's good," I told him with a smile.

He took a sip from his own cup, "it's passable," he commented. "You haven't really had cocoa until you've had Sulpicia's."

Our table was by a window that looked out over the open expanse of the mountain top. It was almost as bald as my Uncle Frank's head; only a few outcrops of scraggly stunted pine trees dotted the landscape. On a summer day, with no breeze, I suspected that it could get quite hot up here.

"Esme," the hard edge in Carlisle's voice made turn away from the window, "Why didn't you tell me about your fear of heights. That could have been very dangerous … you could have had a heart attack."

"I thought you weren't angry with me." He certainly seemed angry.

"I'm not," both his tone and his expression softened and he reached to take my hand. "Esme, honey, do you know how frightening that was for me … how utterly helpless I felt standing there holding you, feeling you tremble in my arms, and knowing that there was nothing I could do to make it better. I hate feeling helpless, Esme … the last time I felt that way I … I was … I was watching Becca die."

"I'm sorry Carlisle," I apologized. I hadn't considered how my panic attack might have affected him. "You were so excited about bringing me up here and I didn't want to disappoint you." I dropped my gaze to the cup in my hands; I couldn't bear to see the pain that I caused dancing in his eyes.

He shook his head, "Honey, I've already told you that you could never disappoint me. I meant that. You have nothing to prove to me; your life stands as a testimony to the strong, courageous, self-reliant woman that you are."

"Look at me," He said quietly after a time. When I didn't look up he reached across the table and tilted my chin up so that our eyes meet. "If we are to have a relationship," he began and then paused, "I am assuming that you do wish to have a relationship."

My heart was pounding again, my face went flush, and I suddenly found myself unable to speak.

Carlisle chuckled at my reaction, "I'll take your blush to mean yes." Then he resumed his gentle yet serious tone, "Then if we are to have a relationship, Esme, it must be built on honesty and trust. We must communicate our likes and dislikes, our fears and concerns, our hopes and our dreams … if we do not; this is doomed to failure from the start. My heart cannot endure a repeat performance of this afternoon, my love."

"I know," I managed quietly.

"It's taken me four miserable years to finally find light and joy in my life again, Esme Platt," he whispered as he bent forward across the table. "I'll not lose you now."

His fingers still held my chin firmly as his lips pressed briefly against mine. While our first kiss was short and chastened, it was by no means devoid of feeling. My heart now belonged to this man, and one day so would the rest of me.

_**AN: We debated that last bit for like 45 min. I wanted a nice kiss on the forehead. Carlisle argued that he'd kissed her twice on the top of the head and he was ready for something more. He's always the consummate gentleman, but he's also quite the Casanova when you get to know him. **_

_**Oh, mood music: Cuzco by E.S. Posthumous.**_

_**NO, I'm not done yet! Ya'll know Blue can't tell a whole story in 22 chapters.**_


	23. Chapter 23

**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the sole intellectual property of its creator**

**Chapter 23**

**Esme:**

I stood on my front porch, bundled against the chill of the morning, watching the girls load Bella's science fair project into the back of Jessica's van. Jess was standing beside me, she'd come over early to collect the girls for school, for coffee, and for gossip. It was the middle of the week, and I still hadn't managed to provide her with an adequate debriefing. An hour and two cups of Folgers into this morning's interrogation and I was no closer to pleasing her.

"All I have to say is… damn," she finally said after draining her cup. "I don't know what _happened_, but … well … damn."

"For the hundredth time, we had a nice, fun, first date Jess," I sighed. "Nothing _happened_, ok."

"Nice and innocent you say," Jessica looked at me as if I'd committed some crime and refused to confess. "I don't care if Dr. Dreamboat took you to Chucky Cheese and the two of you played ski ball all afternoon. _When_ are you two doing it again, honey, cause … damn."

"Jessica, you're incorrigible," I chuckled.

"If that's your way of telling me I'm right," she gloated as she put her coffee cup down of the porch railing, "then, yes I'm the most incorrigible woman in Atlanta."

I watched her march triumphantly towards her van and marshal the girls inside. After a chorus of _goodby_ and _have a nice day_, the van backed out of my driveway and they were off. I stood there a moment longer and watched as Jessica's van as it drove out of sight.

After picking up Jessica's cup from the banister, I returned to the warm sanctity of my house. I dropped our cups off on the kitchen and headed upstairs for a shower. I had just enough time to get one and dress before Mike arrived to take me to work. Dr. Santiago assured me I'd be able to drive soon, but he was being conservative with my care.

As I draped my bath robe across the foot of my bed my eyes fell on Carlisle's blue-grey sweater. I'd laid it lovingly over the back of my favorite chair. I was a bit surprised, yet overjoyed that he'd allowed me to keep it. His scent still lingered on it and I'd found myself hugging it before bed every night.

A broad smile curled the corners of my mouth as I stepped into the shower. He called me the very next day and we talked for well over an hour as I did Sunday afternoon laundry. On Monday he called me at work; he was on a late lunch break, but since I was fiddling with a project in AutoCAD I could talk and work at the same time. Yesterday, he insisted that I meet him at the hospital around noon. He took me to lunch in the hospital cafeteria; it was a test he said. When I asked him what kind of a test, he told me he was checking my intestinal fortitude.

"Any woman who wishes to be in a serious relationship with an ER doctor," I remember him saying plainly, "must be able to stomach hospital food."

He'd said it with so much convection … and with a straight face to boot. After a few moments of trying to remain serious, we both dissolved into hysterical laughter. It was the best lunch date I'd ever had.

I turned off the water and toweled dry before going to my closet to pick out an outfit for the day. Carlisle wanted to take a late lunch today and meet at _The_ _Circulation Desk_. Wednesdays were sometimes busies at the Hospital though, and he said he would call mid morning to confirm our plans. I was looking forward to returning to the quaint little coffee shop where our fledgling romance took its first tentative wing beats.

As I brushed my hair, I noticed the painted feather that he'd tucked into the Holmes anthology and smiled; it was such a thoughtful gift. I had two such gifts from him, and I hadn't given him anything. As I collected my briefcase and purse and started for the front door I turned the idea of a gift for Carlisle over in my mind. Locking the door, I consider some sort of manly key fob; he would look at it every time he took his keys out of his pocket.

I was ready early I though as I glanced at my watch. It would be another ten or fifteen minutes before Mike arrived. The morning chill still hung in the air and I was sorely tempted to go back inside and waiting in the foyer, but that would require me disarming and rearming the alarm system. No, I sighed mentally as I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders; that would be too much trouble. Instead, I walked out to the end of the drive. Our street was a quiet cul-de-sac, Mike could stop in the street and then turn around; no need to pull into the drive at all.

"Good morning Esme," Mrs. Kirkpatrick called from two houses up the street. I waved at her as I watched her walk out and pick up the morning paper. The Kirkpatrick's were a nice retired couple that had been in the neighborhood for ages; Mrs. Kirkpatrick was always bringing brownies by for the girls. I watch her walk back up her drive and go into her house, and then I noticed it; the flag was up on my mail box. Odd, I thought as I walked over to the box. I always dropped letters at the post office near work. I never mailed things them from my house.

I opened the box slowly and inside I found a large manila envelope. The girls always checked the mail after school and the postman runs around 2pm in our neighborhood. So it was clear that this envelop had been placed there yesterday evening, last night, or sometime this morning. I pulled the envelope from the box and turned it over in my hands. The only marking on it was a printed label bearing my first name. Not knowing what it could possibly be, I opened it up and peered inside. There were documents within. This was getting just I a little creepy.

I reached inside the envelop and retrieved the documents. The one on top was an 8 x 10 photograph of Carlisle and I, taken as we walked up Peachtree Street on our way to _The Cotton Gin_. The next one was another 8 x 10 photo of us together at Stone Mountain; waiting in line for the Skyride. The third photo was the same as the second one except that a perfectly round, slightly chard, hole took the place of Carlisle's face. A cigarette burn; I could still smell the awful stench of tobacco. The words _'He dies'_ were scrawled in red sharpie marker over our heads. The last page however was the most chilling. It was a note:

_Remember what I told you … You belong to __**ME! **__If I can't have you, then neither can he._

There wasn't a signature, but I didn't need one to know who had sent this to me. I thought he was still in Columbus, but he right must be here … in Atlanta. How long had he been here? How long had he been following me? God, the girls … did he know their routine … would he try and snatch them? Carlisle … I looked down at the unmarred photo of us strolling together and nearly started to cry; we both looked so happy. That had been the single best day of my life.

"I love you," I muttered as I touched Carlisle's face in the picture. "But I can't let Charles hurt you."

The sound of a Hemi truck engine coming up the street forced me to pull myself together. I shoved the envelop, the pictures, and the note into my briefcase and turned to face Mike.

I was lucky, this morning Mike was engrossed in three separate conference calls over his cell. He kept jumping back and forth between them as we weaved our way through morning traffic. He was so busy that he didn't notice my pale complexion or my suddenly sullen mood. Hopefully, if I broke things off with Carlisle, Charles would seep back into the wood work and peace would be restored. Unfortunately, every time I entertained thoughts of how to tell him goodbye and what my life without him would be like, it made me sick to my stomach.

At the office, I tried to focus, but found myself watching the clock instead. He said he would call midmorning. By ten o'clock I'd made myself so ill with worry that I was contemplating going home. Did Charles watch my house all the time I wondered? I considered going to Jessica's instead, but she would want to know what was up. When my office phone rang I nearly jumped out of my skin, but I was relieved when Dr. Veracini's number appeared on the caller ID.

"Hello, Aro," I sighed with relief when I answered the line.

"Esme is something the matter?" he asked and I could hear the suspicion in his voice.

"No, I'm just …" _tell him,_ something inside me whispered desperately, but I contrived a lie instead, "I'm just tired. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if perhaps your girls could come over this Saturday," he inquired cheerfully. "Sulpicia and I are having a football party and cookout. Carlisle's sons will be there, which will entertain Alec, but Jane will be the only girl … unless you agree."

"That's … uhm … sure Aro," I answered absently, "what time should I drop them."

"Have your friend Jessica bring them by around 10:30 in the morning," he replied, "if you don't mind, Sulpicia could use some help in the kitchen."

"Sure thing Aro … maybe I'll come by too."

"I would not mind this, of course" he cooed knowingly, "but I think you will have other plans."

That was an odd thing for him to say I thought, but then I dismissed it. I had found, through working on the carriage house renovation, that Aro could be very enigmatic. He likely didn't mean anything; it was just a case of Aro being … well …. Aro. Besides, the only plans I might have had over the weekend would have included Carlisle, and that wasn't going to happen … not if I intended to keep him safe from Charles.

"I'll talk to Jess and see if she's free," I sighed.

"_Perfetto_, I will tell Jane and Sulpicia the good news this afternoon." He purred happily. "Oh, and Esme, cheer up, _Caro_, it is not like you to sound so disheartened."

I allowed myself a sad little chuckle, "Like I said, I'm just tired."

"_Se lo dice lei_", he replied in Italian. Though I couldn't understand a word of the language, it sounded so elegant that I really didn't care what he was saying.

We ended our conversation with the usual pleasantries and I went back to my work. I tried to concentrate on my current project; the proposal was due in less than two weeks and I was behind schedule. I pulled up the recently finished CAD files and a blank spread sheet to start the process of building an estimate. Dealing with the dollars and cents part of renovations was my least favorite part of the job; firstly because it was tedious and secondly because it made me feel like a tax collector.

I had completely immersed myself in the distasteful chore of creating an estimate, so when my phone rang at 11:15 it startled me. The caller ID came up Dr. C. Cullen; he was calling me from his cell phone. Should I answer, I asked myself. Maybe if I just let it ring and go to voicemail he would assume that I was busy. I bit my lower lip as I waffled back and forth … answer it … don't answer… answer … don't. Finally, at the last possible moment, I picked up the phone.

"Hello," my voice didn't sound right so I added, "Sorry, I had a client on the other line."

"Of course," Carlisle dismissed, "Have I interrupted something?"

"No, we're done."

Then I heard him take a deep breath and sigh, "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Oh my God, did he get a threatening letter too; Charles was just the sort of man to do something like that.

"We're shorthanded in the ER today," Carlisle continued, "The nursing staff staged a sick out over salary negotiations and one of the other physicians had a family emergency. I'm afraid I won't be able to meet you at The Circulation Desk for lunch."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that things are rough at work today." I really meant that of course. If he'd gotten a letter from Charles, perhaps this was his way of letting me down easy. I had to try a put a positive spin on this; I didn't want him to feel awful about breaking up with me, "But maybe, it'll work out for the best … I have a project proposal coming due and I need to put some time into it."

"Perhaps," he sighed, "I'll call you later, when things calm down around here. We'll talk then."

"Sure thing," I was fighting back tears now and I wasn't sure how much longer I could trust my voice. "I love you Carlisle."

"I love you too Esme."

I didn't even bother to say goodbye, I couldn't bear to do it, so I just hung up. I wanted those words; I love you, to be the last ones that he heard me say. I felt suddenly sick again and after a few moments of staring at the phone, I rushed off to the ladies room in tears. Thankfully there was an executive ladies room and I alone had a key. After nearly two hours of crying and throwing up I emerged. Unfortunately, Mike saw me … and I looked like hell.

"Esme." His furrowed brow and twisted expression asked the obvious question for him, but I chose not to reply. "I have a wife you know … I've seen this look before. I'm not gonna' ask, but whatever it is that's got you in this state … well, why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off. I'll call you a cab and grab the girls from school."

"Thank you," I croaked with a nod.

**Carlisle:**

She hung up on me, I thought. How confusing. I retuned my phone to my pocket and dove back into the fray of patients and paperwork. It must have been a dropped connection I finally assured myself, cellphones weren't always reliable inside the hospital. Esme would never just hang up on me like that.

At 3:00pm, when things settled down again, I stepped outside and tried calling her. Her office phone rang and then went straight to voicemail. I tried her cell with the same results. While I dismissed her hanging up on me as a dropped call earlier, now I wasn't so sure.

I love you Carlisle, those were her last words to me. Her voice had sounded tight as she'd said them; as if she were on the verge of tears. In fact, her voice was strained throughout our entire brief conversation. Something was very wrong, I could feel it.

"Why won't she answer," I grumbled out loud. A fluttering of wings drew my eyes skyward and I found a white dove perched on the power line just above my head. "Well, aren't you going to tell me," I growled angerly at the bird. The dove eyed me sadly before flying away. "Why won't she answer?" I shouted after it as the bird disappeared. "Why won't she answer," I muttered under my breath as I returned my phone to my pocket and went back inside.

I left the hospital a half hour late due to staffing issues. As I made my way to Aro's house for Wednesday night dinner, I tried twice more to call Esme. She still didn't answer, nor had she attempted to return my previous calls. I was becoming more and more concerned. We'd had a wonderful time Saturday, our phone conversations and brief meetings Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday were amazing. We laughed and talked; everything seemed to be going well. So why, all of a sudden, has our budding relationship hit a brick wall?

I tried to smile when Aro and Sulpicia greeted me. I tried to be sociable at the dinner table. I tried but I knew that I had failed. My mind remained fixed on Esme and what I must have done or said to ruin our romance.

Had I been too harsh on her for going to the top of Stone Mountain in spite of her fear of heights. Her stunt had scared me and made me feel helpless, but I thought the delivery of my admonishment had been restrained; firm yet gentle. Perhaps she hadn't received it that way. Still, she hadn't brought the matter up in any of our subsequent conversations.

Was I moving too fast, I wondered next? I did kiss her … on our first date … on the mouth. It was a chaste kiss, but perhaps I had been too forward in doing so? The expression on her face and the desire that burned in her eye afterwards indicated that she had enjoyed it … but could I have misread her reaction.

"Carlisle," Aro beckoned.

Sulpicia and Jane were clearing the table and the boys were headed off behind Alec for the game room. Silently I followed him up stairs to his office. I waited patiently as he poured his brandy and selected a cigar from the humidor.

"You were distracted again this evening," he pointed out before lighting his cigar, "have you been to speak with Moses and God again?"

"No," I snapped in reply. "Look, why don't you ask me whatever it is you wish to ask and be done with it." My English accent was on full display and I added, "I'm not in the mood for games this evening Aro."

"I should have offered you a brandy," he replied calmly to my outburst, "I think you could use one." When I glared at him, he sighed, shook his head, and continued his interrogation, "What is it, old friend … what has you so _unnerved_."

After all his meddling, I didn't really want to discuss Esme with him. But he was also my oldest and dearest friend; who else could I talk to. I realized that, like it or not, if I wanted truly sound advice, Aro would be the only one to give it to me.

"She hung up on me," I blurted, "and she won't answer my calls or return my messages."

"Who, Esme," he exclaimed. His tone seemed rather shocked.

"Who else Aro," I grumbled miserably, "After all you're meddling, why are you surprised. You were right; I'm in love with her … there, I said it, does that please you."

"Wait, one thing at a time Carlisle," he leaned across his desk, "You said she hung up on you and now she will not speak to you?"

"I called her around eleven to tell her that our lunch date would have to be put off," I sighed. "Her voice sounded … odd … throughout our conversation. The words she spoke said I understand, but her tone was … I don't know … tense. There's something wrong, but I can't put my finger on it. Then she said _I love you Carlisle_, and I told her that I loved her too … and then she hung up. Aro, if I didn't know better … I would swear she was trying to say goodbye."

I watched as Aro sat back in his chair and puffed thoughtfully on his cigar. He remained silent, wreathed in a haze of smoke for a long time, and then like the awakening of a long dead volcano he spoke.

"It is possible, but I doubt this ... unless she is under duress." He seemed to be talking to himself, because his statement didn't make sense.

"What," I stammered, "Aro, what are you talking about."

He turned to me then and regarded me with concern. "Perhaps she was simply busy. You are aware that she is a full partner in Newton Architectural Solutions. My advice to you is this; stop worrying and call her again tomorrow. If she still does not answer or return you calls, then you may become concerned. However your concern should not cause you to fret like an old woman … concern should give rise to action."

"Are you suggesting that I go see her?"

"I am saying that if you value this relationship, then don't give up," he insisted. "Nothing worth having is easily obtained and nothing worth keeping is held without a fight.

"Go see her … at her office if necessary … and get to the bottom of this misunderstanding. If you want Esme, then it is the only way."

_**AN: Out of the frying pan and into the fire!**_

_**Sorry CatchingStar, I said the water would get a lot muddier before it ran clear.**_

_**Se lo dice lei = If you say so**_

**_Perfetto = perfect _**


	24. Chapter 24

**NOTE:**** I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator!**

**Chapter 24**

**Carlisle:**

I drug myself out of bed and began the process of preparing for the day ahead. The boys didn't have to be at school until 8:00 am, and they wouldn't wake until later in the morning. I was the only one who had to be up by 5 and out of the house by 6:15. In spite of this I still got slammed in traffic. I never looked forward to the morning commute, but this morning I was looking forward to it even less. I hadn't slept well and I felt as haggard as I looked. I couldn't shut my mind off and I continued to puzzle over Esme's strange behavior.

When I told her that I would not lose her now, I meant every syllable of every word.

"Why Esme," I muttered to my reflection as I prepared to shave. "What's going on that you're not telling me? What are you hiding; you know that I love you."

"Of course she does," Rebecca chirped from behind me. I saw her shimmering aspersion in the mirror; she was looking over my shoulder. "You missed a spot … right there," she pointed out the scraggly line of stubble that I'd missed.

"What do you know," I questioned. Becca's only fault in life, and in death, was her affinity for being mysterious.

"A lot," she purred, "but I can't tell you."

"Why," I insisted. "Surly it's important. Something's wrong with Esme and I need to know what it is."

"God, I love your accent," she giggled.

"Becca," I tried to sound stern, but as usual it didn't work and Rebecca dissolved into laughter. "If you're not going to be serious …" I began, but didn't finish. What was I going to do, tell her ghost to leave? I stormed out of my bathroom and rummaged through my closet for clean pants and a shirt.

"Alright," she sighed, "you do have a legitimate reason for concern."

I spun around and looked at her like helpless puppy, "What's wrong … what do I do?"

"What did Aro tell you to do?"

"Call her," I replied, "and if that doesn't work … go and see her."

"Be gentle when you go see her," Rebecca's form began to fade as she spoke. "She loves you more than she's willing to admit … she loves you enough to lose you forever if it means keeping you safe." She was almost gone entirely now, "Oh and she'll want privacy … if you want her to talk … remember that." And then she vanished altogether.

The traffic was backed up, as usual, and I sat sandwiched between a tractor-trailer hauling cattle to market and another one carrying industrial equipment. I allowed myself to slip into autopilot as my mind tried to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. I had a sneaking suspicion Aro knew something. At the very least he had been monitoring the progress of our growing relationship. But it was more than that; I shocked him when I reviled that Esme had hung up on me and wouldn't return my calls. Thinking back on it now, his expression went instantly pale and he looked as though he'd been punched in the gut. What did he know, I wondered.

My suspicion that something was dreadfully wrong had been all but confirmed by Rebecca. _She loves you enough to lose you forever if it means keeping you safe_; I couldn't get those words out of my mind. Keep me safe from what. Surely she didn't think that our relationship would somehow give rise to a scandal. And what if it did, the prudish opinions of a few old gossiping hens wouldn't be enough to keep me away from her.

"Oh Esme," I muttered as I pulled into my parking space. "What is it, my love, what do you mean to keep me safe from."

In spite of the volume of patients that kept me busy, the morning seemed to drag on. I watched the clock closely and at 10:00 am, sharp, I made a break for the men's room. It amazed me that, in this of all places, I could always get a clear reliable cell phone signal. Once I shut myself into one of the stalls, I fished out my cell and dialed her office number. Unfortunately, I wasn't surprised when it went to her voicemail. The sound of her recorded message was both agonizing and exhilarating. Stop it you fool, I chided myself, you're pining over a recording.

I next tried her personal cell … with the same exasperating results.

"Well my dear," I spoke sternly to the emptiness around me as if Esme were actually there to hear my words, "It would seem that you wish to try me. Very well, a personal confrontation it shall be then."

_Be gentle when you go see her_, Becca's words rang once again in my ears. Yes, of course I reminded myself. I had a habit of being pugnacious when my dander was up and right now I was more than a little upset with my beloved. Becca had a way with me; she could easily diffuse my anger with a soft smile or a whispered word. I would have to be mindful of my tone; firm but gentle, I reminded myself as I left the men's room. Firm but gentle.

The staffing situation had resolved itself overnight; the hospital board of trustees mad a more agreeable offer to the nurses union. In light of that action, we had a full complement of nurses, PA's, and doctors on duty today.

"Richard," I called after one of my colleagues. Dr. Richard Grey looked up from his work to see what I wanted. "Do you think you could cover for me for a little while?"

"How long is a little while," he asked as a mischievous grin spread across his face.

"Richard, please."

"Don't _Richard please_ me," he chuckled, "I saw her Carlisle …she's a real looker. I'm happy for you."

I couldn't help but smiled back at him, he meant well. "A little while would be a couple of hours."

"Go on," he waved me away, "Have lunch, or a walk in the park, or whatever. Enjoy!"

I hurried off before he could change his mind. I made the dash to the parking deck record time and I only paused briefly to remove my lab coat before I hopped behind the wheel of my Mercedes. I'd goolged direction to Esme's office before bed last night and I punched them into my GPS then started the car. It was a relatively short drive across town to the building where she worked. I parked in the visitor's deck and made my way by elevator to her floor. The sign that greeted me when I got off read _Newton Architectural Solutions LLC_ and I knew I had the right floor.

I came almost immediately to the reception desk.

"Excuse me, where might I find Mrs. Esme Platt?" I asked the receptionist politely.

"I can call her desk for you, if you like" she offered kindly, picking up the phone as she spoke.

"No, please … I, uhm …I want to surprise her," I finally told her. I must have sounded like a complete lunatic. "Please, I'm … well I'm … I'm her boyfriend … well, fiancé actually."

The woman's eyes went as wide as saucers and then a knowing sort of smile curled her lips. She gave me a quick set of direction to find Esme's cubical in the maze of cubical that filled the spacious office. As I turned the final corner, there she was. She was seated at her desk with her back to me. Her head was down as she was engrossed in some work or other. Her posture caused her honey gold hair to cascade around her shoulder like a cape made of sunshine. I felt the same tantalizing stirring within me that I had on that faithful day she'd come into the ER. "I will not lose you", I whispered to myself as I stalked towards her work space.

I stood behind her in silence for several minutes; just watching her work sent a shiver of desire through me. Focus, I reminded myself … firm but gentle … get to the bottom of this.

"AHUM," I cleared my throat loudly. When she turned to see who was there, it was as if she'd seen a ghost.

"Hello, I'm from the phone company," I began sarcastically, "I've been informed by a Dr. Carlisle Cullen that your phones are in disrepair. He's been trying to call, but you've not been receiving them. Imagine that."

"Carlisle," she breathed, "I wasn't expecting …"

"You weren't expecting me," I finished for her, "I wasn't expecting to be ignored like a pesky bill collector."

"You don't understand," she began hotly, but then her expression softened and she simply turned back towards her work. With her back to me she repeated, "You don't understand."

I grabbed the back of her chair and gently swiveled her back to face me, "then explain … make me understand. What's wrong Esme … what have I done?"

"Nothing, it's not …" I watched as she closed her eyes and take a deep breath. "It's not something you did Carlisle … it has nothing to do with you."

"If it has to do with this relationship, then it has to do with me," I told her. Then I remembered Becca's warning … _she'll want privacy, if you want her to talk_. I quickly scanned our surroundings and spotted a vacant conference room.

"Come with me please," I insisted as I took her by the arm and led her towards the vacant room. Once inside, I switched on the lights and closed the door.

"Alright, I can understand you not wanting to air your dirty laundry in front of your co-workers." I began gently, "but we're alone now … so out with it."

She had her back to me and when she turned to face me, I nearly fell out. Esme was in tears. Dear God, I'd made her cry.

"He'll kill you." She stammered through her tears. "I love you; I can't let him kill you."

"What," I was shocked to say the least, "what are you talking about, who's going to kill me?"

"Charles." She replied before dissolving completely into a sobbing heap.

"Your ex-husband," she only nodded in reply to my inquiry.

"So that's who you're protecting me from," I muttered as I took her into my arms.

I held her in my arms and whispered soothingly words into the crown of her head until her sobbing died away. In spite of the circumstances, I had to admit that it felt good to hold her again. "I'll not lose you, Esme Platt," I found myself muttering possessively as her crying tapered off, "I'll not lose you."

When she was calm again I allowed her to untangle herself from my embrace and I offered her kleenx from a box I found on the conference table. She accepted the proffered tissue and after cleaning her face, she looked at me. She was still quite a mess with red rimmed eyes, tear streaked makeup, and a general puffiness in her face that tended to come with a woman's lament. Even in her current state, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Are you ready to talk now," I asked calmly.

She nodded, "I need to get something from my desk." Her voice sounded horse from crying, but at least she was speaking to me. "I'll be right back."

To my great relief she returned a few moments later carrying her briefcase. "Yesterday morning," she began as she pulled out a manila envelope, "I found this in my home mailbox."

She handed me the envelope as if it were some sort of cursed object. I took it from her and carefully examined its exterior; with the exception of the printed label baring her name, there were no discernible marks.

"He took pictures of us," her voice trembled with a mixture of emotions as she spoke. "I thought he was still in Columbus. Carlisle I never thought …"

I used the same hand gesture to silence her that Aro often employed. When she was quiet, I removed the contents of the envelope; there were three pictures taken of the Esme and I on our date, one of which had been defaced with a cigarette burn and the words 'he dies'. There was also a threatening note.

"Have you contacted the police?" I inquired of her as I continued to stare at the defaced photo.

She remained silent and I looked up to find her shaking her head vehemently.

"Why not," I continued calmly.

"He's dangerous Carlisle and …"

"All the more reason to contact the police," I interrupted. I pointed to the chair beside me and indicated that I wished her to sit. "I haven't had the pleasure of knowing you for very long Esme, but in the time that I have known you I've come to recognize that you possess an array of remarkable characteristics. First and foremost among those is your courage. You divorced your abusive husband and fled with your children half way across the country in order to afford them, and yourself, a safe secure future. That took an enormous amount of courage, Esme, and I assure you that not every abused woman has that courage. I see the unfortunate one in my ER on a daily basis.

"But now my beloved, I'm afraid that you have to step up again. You must find, once more, that well of courage that resides within you. You can't keep running Esme … because he'll only keep coming after you. If you truly want to be safe, secure, and free you have to confront him, my love."

She sat in stunned silence for a time. "I don't know if I can," she murmured softly, "I don't want him to hurt anyone I care about … I don't care what he does to me, but …"

"I care Esme," I insisted flatly. The tone I'd taken must have startled her, and she looked up at me. I took the opportunity to drive home my point, "You say you don't care what happens to you, but your life isn't _**just**_ about you. You aren't an island Esme; you have three girls who would miss their mother, good friends in Jessica, Mike, Aro, and Sulpicia who would miss the light of your friendship, a brother who would miss his dear sister, and countless others who would miss your presence in their lives. And you have me Esme," I paused and offered her my most reassuring smile, "I cannot bear to lose the light and joy that your life brings me."

"What do I do," she finally answered, "Where do I start?"

Thank God, I sighed mentally. "With a phone call, I think," I replied as I pulled my phone from my pocket, "and then a trip to the police station."

I hit Aro's number on the speed dial and waited. Though he'd long ago left his old life in Chicago, I knew he maintained a few contacts. He also knew his way around the legal system far better than I did.

"Carlisle," he sounded a little stunned when he answered the phone. "Is everything alright? Did you get to the bottom of …"

"I don't have time for twenty questions Aro," I interrupted. I felt a bit guilty for being rude, but too much time had elapse already. "What's the name of that crooked attorney you keep on retainer?"

"_Scusi_," he exclaimed as my tone caught him off guard, "I would remind you to whom you speak."

"Aro, it's urgent," I insisted in a more respectful tone, "Esme's ex-husband has surfaced and he's making death threats."

"I see," he sounded more himself now, "I will text you his name, address, and telephone number and I will meet the two of you at his office in an hour."

"You shouldn't have spoken to him that way," Esme commented as we left the conference room to get her purse.

"I'll apologize later," I insisted, "Do you need to say anything to Mike before we head out."

"Well, technically he's not my boss … we're partners," she replied, "but, he's also a friend and your probably right … I should pop my head in and say something."

"You'll have to explain my presence," I offered mischievously.

"I'm not ashamed of you Carlisle."

"Funny you should say that," I began as I ran a hand nervously through my hair. "You know the really nice older lady at the reception desk …"

"Sure, Abigail, what about her."

"I might have told her that I was you boyfriend," then I paused and corrected, "Well, your fiancé actually."

"No," she laughed. "Oh my God, Carlisle … you realize I'm going to be the talk of the water cooler for months."

_**AN: Yes, I know, its a little short … but in my defense, I haven't had coffee yet**_

_**Mood music: Oraanu Pi by E.S. Posthumus **_

_**I really like this group, can you tell? I tend to put one track on continuous loop while I write. I don't understand the neuroscience behind it, but I find that some tracks make ideas and scenes flow, while others seem to stop the creative process in its tracks.**_


	25. Chapter 25

**NOTE:**** I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator!**

**AN: Kleenex alert!**

**Oh and FYI, in case you don't visit my profile page when you get email alerts: ********The Cullen Bunch** has been nominated for the ** Energize W.I.P Award ** for Most promising Twilight Fan Fic canon Thank you, to whoever nominated me :) 

**Chapter 25**

**Esme:**

We stopped by Mike's office before leaving the building. I took Carlisle's pep-talk about courage to heart and reviled to Mike what was going on. To say that he was shocked was an understatement. When Carlisle told him that he was taking me to meet with a lawyer and then down to the police station to file a report, he seemed relieved.

"Don't worry about the girls, Esme," Mike assured me, "You take care of this, Jess and I will look after them. They're welcome to stay with us if you think Charles is watching the house."

"I'll let you know," I told him.

As we walked past the reception desk, Abigail flashed us a knowing smile then winked at me. The fastest way to spread a rumor around our office was to tell Aunt Abby; I was destined to be the subject of office gossip for sure now. Oh well, I thought as we entered the elevator, at least he was worth chattering about.

We exited the elevator on the garage level, stepping out into the subterranean world of concrete and parked cars. I instantly became nervous and froze in my tracks. When I arrived in Atlanta thirteen years ago, I spent the first year and a half constantly peering into shadows and looking over my shoulder just on the off chance that Charles might be there … waiting. The threats he made during our divorce were chilling, and I knew that he was more than capable of following through on them. I couldn't really say when I finally relaxed and accepted the possibility of a normal life, but that was over now.

"What is it," Carlisle insisted when I stopped dead in my tracks just outside the elevator doors.

The garage was quiet except for the constant hum of the ventilation fans, "What if he's down here … waiting?"

"I tend to doubt that," he dismissed, "But if he is, we should get to the car." He pointed to where his Mercedes was parked just a few yards away.

I felt much safer once we were in Carlisle's car. After checking his pone for the address of Aro's lawyer and plugging it into the GPS, we were on our way. Once out of the parking garage he made a brief call to the hospital to let them know an emergency had come up.

"I'm sorry for my heavy handed behavior earlier," he apologized, "I didn't mean to make you cry." He paused and sighed, "I'm rather new to … well that is, after Rebecca died I never thought … it's been quite a while since I've been in a relationship Esme."

"That makes two of us," I offered, "quite a steep learning curve isn't it?" When he chuckled I relaxed. "Uhm … you know, it wasn't you … that made me cry I mean."

He glanced over at me briefly and sadness clouded his sky blue eyes. "As I told you earlier, I see firsthand the tragic consequences of domestic violence. I can mend their broken bodies; that's the easy part. The brokenness on the inside, however … mending that …" he paused and griped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"I didn't realize that there was anything left to mend," I replied shaking my head. "I thought my life was pretty normal; great kids, a great job, a nice home in a quiet suburban neighborhood. I'd relegated Charles to a locked room in a dark dusty corner of my mental attic. But now he's back and … and it's like finding out your nice well-kept home is infested with termites."

Carlisle chuckled at my analogy and I found his laughter soothing. When Charles laughed like that at my comments, it was intended to be demeaning. It amazed me how different these two men were; why couldn't I have met a man like Carlisle instead of a brut.

Carlisle followed the complex set of directions given by the GPS until we were on the downtown connector headed north towards Ga.400. The lawyer's office was a little out of the way, he told me as we entered the express way, but he assured me that if Aro kept the man on retainer, then he was top notch. How I was supposed to afford a top notch attorney was beyond me, but I wasn't in the mood to argue the matter.

"Uhm, Esme," he began after driving in silence for a time. Carlisle had been thinking, I could tell from the look of extreme concentration I saw on his face every time I glanced over at him. "I, uhm …. Well, I … That is, I …" He was struggling for words to ask me a question and I felt sorry for him. "I realize that your life with Charles likely represents a painful chapter for you." His thoughts were coalescing, but he didn't look at all comfortable speaking them. "I don't mean to put you on the spot, my love, or dredge up unpleasant memories, but … well …"

"You want me to tell you about Charles," I mercifully supplied for him.

"Well, yes," he sighed. I could tell he was relieved. "But only what you feel comfortable discussing," he added, "I'm not foolish enough to think that you'll want to tell me every single detail of your life with your former husband … and, for that matter, I'm quite certain that I don't wish to know every single detail. But the man is threatening to kill me, and I would like to know a bit more about him."

"Are you sure?" I asked hesitantly, "I really don't like talking about him."

"I know honey," he reached over, took my hand in his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

I nodded and decided to start from the beginning. "Charles and I went to high school together. He played football and we were in the same graduating class, but I really didn't know him back then. He swore that he tried to talk to me, but I don't remember it that way.

"We both ended up going to the same university. He was an Engineering major on a football scholarship and I was studying Architecture on Pell Grant. Anyway, he and I had two classes together; first semester freshman English and American History. Two and a half weeks before midterms, he asked me if I would mind tutoring him … he wasn't doing well academically; he had to pass to play, and he had to play to keep his scholarship. Where I'm from in Ohio, neighbors help one another … so I said yes.

"With my help, he passed all his classes. I continued to tutor him in the spring, but the following fall he got into a few of engineering courses and I couldn't help him with those. By the end of his sophomore year, he was on academic probation. He flunked out the fall semester of his junior year.

"He called me from time to time and he held several different part-time jobs. In the fall of my senior year, his dad had a heart attack. Charles' father owned and operated a general contracting business in our town, and Charles went to work for his dad … you know, to take some of the strain off."

"Of, course," Carlisle replied politely.

"During my senior year, I had an internship with a local architectural firm; after graduation, they hired me full time. And, well … that's when …" I paused and looked uncomfortably at Carlisle.

When I didn't continue speaking he glanced over at me. "I know, sweetheart," he offered sympathetically, "You've done fine thus far, but if your uncomfortable going any further …"

"No it's not that," I interrupted his dismissal. "It's just that things get … complicated from here. They might get difficult for you to hear."

"I'll be fine," he told me, and flashed a reassuring smile to back up his statement. Then he added, "Take your time."

"A few months after I started working full time at the firm," I went on hesitantly, "Charles asked me out and we started dating. He was charming, funny, and kind … there wasn't a single hint of the monster that he would later become. We dated for almost a year before he asked me to marry him. I had no hesitation about saying yes."

I glanced over at him again to judge his reaction, he seemed calm. "Please continue," he urged when I remained silent too long, "if you're comfortable doing so."

"I got my first inkling that something might be … well, _off_, on our honeymoon. He kept insisting that, when we got back home, I could quit my job and stay home. When I told him I like working, and that I found a senses of personal and professional satisfaction in what I was doing … he became very upset. I didn't quit, of course, and that's when the verbal abuse started. It was stubble at first; cutting remarks in privet and then later on in front of our friends, unfounded complaints about the state of our home, and finally outright insults.

"Five months into our marriage, I became pregnant with our first child … and that's when the physical abuse started."

"He beat you while you were pregnant with Rosalie?" Carlisle voice could barely contain his outrage.

"I wasn't pregnant with Rose," I corrected sadly. Sometimes I still cried when I thought about the baby, so I turned my face to the window in case my emotions betrayed me. "A boy … our son … Christopher … he was still born. The doctors never said why … they told me it happens sometimes. But I knew better, Charles beat me while I carried him … he killed our baby."

"I'm sorry Esme," he whispered reverently as he took my hand again, "I'm so, so, sorry."

When I had my composure again I continued my story. "He was determined after that," my voice trembled as I spoke, "to get me pregnant again. The doctors said to wait a yea,r so my body could recover, but he didn't care. He forced himself on me whenever the mood struck him … whether I was willing and wanted it or not; most often it was not. It wasn't long before I was pregnant with Rose. The abuse didn't stop, but he was more careful when he hit me.

"After Rose was born I insisted on continuing to work when my maternity leave ended. It made Charles furious, he swore no child of his would go to daycare, so my mom stepped up and volunteered to keep Rose. Charles wasn't happy, but he couldn't say no to Grandma Edith. Within a year of Rose's birth I was pregnant with Alice. Nothing changed at home; if anything it got worse. Six months after Alice was born Charles' father died of a massive heart attack … he left his business to Charles. I thought that this would make him happy … finally happy … he was a business owner … he would make more money than his architect wife … he would be somebody. I couldn't have been more wrong.

"As he struggled to run his father's general contracting business, things got worse at home. Then I found out I was pregnant again … with Bella. Charles wanted me to have an abortion, but I refused." I looked over helplessly at Carlisle, "I'd already gone through losing a baby once, Carlisle ... I just couldn't ..."

"Of course not," he soothed gently, "I'm very glad that you didn't. The world is a better place with Bella in it."

His kind words brought a brief smile to my face and gave me the courage to finish my story. "I was just starting my second trimester and I'd come in to see Dr. Keith Green, my OB/GYN for a routine checkup. During the exam, he noticed the bruising from Charles' latest temper tantrum. He took me into his office and asked me about it … I couldn't hold back any longer and I told him everything. He saved my life that day … because of him, I took my girls and left. I went back home to mom and dad and filed for divorce from Charles."

He was silent for what seemed like an eternity and I was afraid that I told him too much. I found out, not long after my divorce, that most people don't really want to hear the sorted details of other folk's misery. But he had asked, I thought.

"Thank you, Esme" he finally said as we pulled into a parking lot in front of the lawyer's office. "It took a lot of courage for you to share your story with me. I know the telling of it wasn't easy; I could hear the anguish in your voice as you spoke." His car glided into a parking space, and he cut the engine before turning to look at me, "One day, if you like, I'll share my story with you."

"Yes, I'd like that," I replied quietly, "if you're comfortable with sharing it."

He smiled at me briefly. "Are you ready for this," he asked after a few minutes.

I shifted my gaze from Carlisle to the structure in front of me; it was a beautiful old classical revival building that, on any other day, I would have gushed over. Today however, it felt cold and imposing.

"I would really rather not do this," I told him honestly.

"I know, my love, but it must be done" he replied gravely.

This time I reached out and took his hand, "You can't let go," I insisted, "please promise me you won't."

"I won't Esme," he answered seriously then he chuckled as he revised his statement, "well, perhaps just long enough to get out of the car and open your door."

_**AN: This just seemed like the right time for Esme to tell her story to Carlisle. I couldn't remember if SM ever gave Esme's baby a name … so I gave him the name of my own lost child. I don't think she'd mind and I hope ya'll don't. **_


	26. Chapter 26

**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator.**

**Chapter 26**

**Carlisle:**

As soon as I helped her out of the car, Esme latched onto my arm with a death grip. I couldn't blame her; her world was imploding around her. She survived a brutal marriage only to find out that, thirteen years later, her ex-husband was stalking her; that would be enough to unnerve anyone. But to put the icing on the cake, I had just made her re-live some of the most painful chapters of her life. I felt awful about it, but I didn't have time to lament over it. Esme need my strength to help her through the lawyer's deposition that awaited her. Once we went to the police station and filed charges against Charles, the deposition, the police report, and the physical evidence left in her mail box would be more than enough to get a restraining order issued against Charles.

Esme paused as we reached the front door; she looked nervously over her shoulder. "What if he followed us?"

"Love, he's not likely to try anything here." I assured her.

"But what if he sees me here," she stammered, "he'll get angry … my doing this, would _really _make him angry. I don't care what he does to me … I just don't want … I can't let him hurt anyone …"

"Esme," I spoke her name insistently as I gently caught her chin and forced her eyes to lock with mine, "You don't care what he does to you so long as he doesn't hurt the ones you love … is that correct?"

"Yes," she muttered desperately. Her eyes were so full of fear in that moment, that I almost couldn't bear to gaze into them. For her sake I forced myself not to turn away.

"Do you know why that is?" I asked her, but I didn't give her a chance to respond, "It's because_ there's nothing else left_**. **He beat you, belittled you, raped you, and killed you unborn child. You know the pain of those things; they're old hat to you, Esme. The only weapon that remains in his arsenal is the fear that he might hurt someone else … someone _you love_.

"And I'll tell you something else; if you want to ensure_ that he doesn't_ hurt anyone that you care about … then you have to walk through those doors."

"I know Carlisle," she admitted, "I'm just scared. Maybe I'm not really the courageous woman that you think I am."

I pulled her into my embrace and held her tightly. "Courage is not the absence of fear," I whispered into her golden hair, "but triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear."

"Winston Churchill?" she muttered against my chest.

"No, another great man," I corrected gently, "Nelson Mandela." After holding her for several more minutes, I released her from my embrace.

"I guess we should get this over with," she sighed.

"Lingering out here won't make the inevitable any easier," I observed as I reached for the door handle. The instant I touched it and began to turn the handle, Esme latched onto my arm again.

"You promised," she insisted when I looked at her.

"Indeed I did," I replied with a smile.

I pushed open the door and we entered the front room; the space was large, silent, and empty. The sound of the door closing behind up seemed unnaturally loud, even to me, but it made Esme jump. "Easy, love," I soothed as I patted the back of her hand. She clung to my right elbow as if I were the only thing standing between her and a watery grave. After a minute or two she relaxed her grip a bit.

"Are you sure this is the right place," she whispered doubtfully, "it looks like a funeral home."

I found myself laughing in spite of not wanting to, "perhaps you could recommend some cheerful renovations."

"Maybe I will," she agreed as she inched closer to my side, "this place gives me the creeps."

The sound of footsteps clattering on hardwood suddenly disturbed the deathly silence, and a woman in a tasteful business suite and high heels stepped out of a shadowy hallway. She stopped to appraise us before crossing the room to offer us a greeting.

"Good afternoon," the woman spoke politely, "May I help you."

"Yes," I replied, stepping forward just a bit; Esme still clung to me and I did want to dislodge her. "I'm Dr. Carlisle Cullen and this is Mrs. Esme Platt. Were here to see Mr. Eleazar Castellano … I think he's expecting us."

"Of course, if you'll wait here I'll let Mr. Castellano know that you're here."

It wasn't long before the woman returned and bid us to follow her. She led us through a maze of hallways that ended in a set of mahogany French doors.

"Go right in," she instructed us, "Mr. Castellano and Dr. Veracini are waiting for you." Then she turned and walked away.

When the woman was out of site, I turned to Esme; this was her call. I watched as she took several beep cleansing breaths and then she nodded, indicating her readiness to proceed. Only then did I open the door and usher us into the room beyond.

"Carlisle … Esme," Aro greeted us warmly as we entered. He and another gentleman who I assumed to be the attorney, Mr. Castellano, stood when we came into the room. It was apparent to me that the two of them had been awaiting our arrival for some time; this was evidenced by the pair empty brandy snifters on the coffee table and the half smoked cigars resting in the ash tray.

"This is Mr. Eleazar Castellano, my attorney," he introduce, "Eleazar, this is my very good friend, Dr. Carlisle Cullen and the delightful and talented Mrs. Esme Platt, my architect."

"It's a pleasure to meet both of you," Mr. Castellano offered each of us his hand in turn as he welcomed us. "I'm only sorry that we had to meet under such distressing circumstances."

A modest marble fireplace occupied one wall of Mr. Castellan's office and a small grouping of furniture was arranged in front of it; a short sofa flanked on either side by a pair of wing-back chairs and a coffee table in the middle. We were shepherded towards the seating area by Aro and his attorney. They resumed their previous seats, taking up residence in the wing-back chairs; this left the sofa for Esme and myself. As we settled I noticed that someone, most likely Aro, had thoughtfully suggested stoking a cheery fire in the hearth.

"Now, Mrs. Platt," the lawyer began, "Uhm … may I call you Esme?" When she nodded, he continued, "Thank you. Aro has informed me that you're having some difficulty with your ex-husband. I know that this is a delicate matter, but could you elaborate on it please?"

I felt her squeeze my arm and when I looked at her, I could tell she need my assurance. I afforded her a reassuring smile and nodded to encourage her to speak.

"Yesterday morning," she began hesitantly, "I … I was waiting for my colleague, Mike Newton, to pick me up for work, when I noticed the flag up on my mailbox. That was really unusual so … I went to check it out. Inside I found a manila envelope that contained photos of Carlisle and I together. One of them had a … well, it had been defaced. And there was a threatening note too."

"Do you have these items with you, and if so, may I see them?" he asked.

She nodded and then began rummaging through her briefcase in serch of the envelope. When she retrieved it, she clutched it briefly before thrusting it at Mr. Castellano.

"Relax Esme," I whispered softly. She was griping my arm so tightly now, that I feared she would cut off the circulation to me hand.

"I just … I want this over with."

I could understand, of course, but I was afraid that this whole affair was only just getting started; it would be quite a while before it was over with. I sighed and patted her hand gently.

"The statement on the note," Mr. Castellano spoke up after a careful examination of the envelope's contents. "Has you ex-husband threatened you before?"

She glanced up at me again and I offered another encouraging nod. In that moment, I felt a sudden shift in her demeanor. For reasons that I couldn't explain, the grip of fear seemed to fall away from her and I watched Esme … reborn and on fire.

"Yes," she supplied and then she paused, "He was an abusive man, Mr. Castellano." Her voice suddenly took on a edge that I'd never heard from her before, "that's why I left him. He beat me, belittled me, raped me, and caused the still birth of my first child." When she repeated, verbatim, the same phrase I had spoken to her out on the porch, I felt my heart leap in my chest.

"During the proceedings of our divorce, he accused me of cheating on him … he called me a whore, a slut, and referenced me using the 'B' word in open court," she continued. "He was so belligerent that the judge threatened to hold him in contempt if he didn't watch his mouth."

My God, I thought as I listened. I was utterly revolted by her ex's behavior, but the level of courage Esme was demonstrating as she delivered her statements thrilled me.

"Not only did he threaten me in court," she continued, "He left messages on my answering machine throughout the proceedings. The day after our divorce was finalized; he called me … late in the evening, from a number that I didn't recognize. When I answered the phone, he said those words to me," she pointed to the document in Mr. Castellano's hand. "_You're mine Esme … you belong to me, and If I can't have you then no one else can have you either_. Then he hung up. There were no more messages or phone calls after that, but I knew that if I valued my life and the lives of my children, then I needed to leave Columbus … as fast as humanly possible."

"That's quite a compelling story Esme, thank you for your candor … I know it wasn't easy."

"No, Mr. Castellano, it wasn't," she insisted. Then she paused again and looked up at me; a new fire burned brightly behind her emerald eyes, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but triumph over it." She smiled at me before going on to complete the Mandela quote, "The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." After a moment she returned her attention to the lawyer, "I have too many reasons in my life Mr. Castellano … my family … my friends," here she glanced briefly at Aro who smiled with delight, "to many people that I love. If I lie down and die, who will stand for them?"

"Mio Dio, se egli non sposare questa donna …" I head Aro mutter quietly in Italian as a tear traced its way down his cheek. I understood enough of the language to figure out what he said; I wasn't sure whether I should be appalled by it or agree with him.

"Uhm … please, call me Eleazar," he insisted as a newly found respect for her tinted his voice and lit his eyes. "Don't misinterpret what I'm about to ask you … I have every confidence in the validity of what you just told me … but do you have any proof of his past threats and harassment?"

She sat silently for a moment; it wasn't fear that made her pause, I could tell she was merely considering how to respond.

"There is a box," she replied slowly, "in my friend Jessica's attic. It contains all the papers from my divorce, including a complete transcript of the court proceedings. I also saved the audio tape from my answering machine … the ones where he threatened me. Some of those are … graphic."

"How soon can you have that box in my office?"

She pulled her cell from her purse, "It's a phone call away."

She was about to dial Jessica's number when Eleazar stopped her, "Not on your phone, my dear. Use mine," he insisted as he handed her his Blackberry.

A scowl creased her brow momentarily and then realization set in, "You think he's been … all my calls?"

"Quite possibly," he sighed sadly.

"That little … _**Toad**_!" She fumed.

I could tell Esme was furious; her outburst was the closest I'd ever heard her come to profanity. However, my reaction to her display of anger confused me; I found it both arousing and amusing. I fought tooth and nail to maintain a dignified air, but God help me, I wanted to laugh.

"While I await the arrival of the box," Mr. Castellano told us as he walked Esme and I to the front door, "You take Esme to the local police station in her area. Show them the pictures and the note and tell them what happened and that you want to file a report. Then we can get started on obtaining an Order of Protection."

"Do you think that will that be enough to stop him?" Esme asked.

"I doubt it," Aro answered flatly, "but it's a start."

_**AN: I know this chapter would have made more sense from Esme's POV, but after the last chapter … well, poor Blue just couldn't be in her head-space anymore. To keep the story moving along, Carlisle kindly agreed to take over for a while. Speaking of taking over, Aro gleefully offered to narrate this chapter, but that would have been … disturbing. Don't worry, he'll be back soon.**_

_**Music for Esme, reborn and on fire: Vishnu by E.S. Posthumus **_

_**Italian translation courtesy of Dictionary dot com :**_

_**Mio Dio, se egli non sposare questa donna = My God, if he does not marry this woman **_


	27. Chapter 27

**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator.**

**AN: Ok gang, this one makes me a little nervous, but here we go.**

**Chapter 27**

**Esme:**

We left the lawyer's office in the far northern reaches of Fulton County and made our way through the snarl of early afternoon traffic. Carlisle insisted on taking me back to my home in Smyrna, a suburb in Cobb County and accompanying me to the police station. Mr. Castellano instructed us that the police report had to be filed within the jurisdiction where the crime was committed. When I suggested to Carlisle that I could take care of filing the report on my own, he dismissed the notion with a reproachful glare.

At this juncture in my life, I was a woman accustomed to my independence. Unfortunately that hadn't always been true; when I was married, Charles controlled almost every aspect of my life. He ruled, quite literally, with an iron fist. Who I talked to, the clothes I wore, even what I cooked for dinner each night were all subject to his approval … in advance. My only hours of fleeting freedom came between 8:00 am and 4:00pm Monday thru Friday, when I went to work. And if Charles had had his way, those forty golden hours a week would have been obliterated as well.

For six years, I was constantly bombarded with the notion that I was an incompetent female; incapable of rational decision making, economic discretion, or meaningful independent thought. I needed to be _taken care of_, and Charles was just the man to do it. I felt stifled under his authoritarian regime, but when I left him and broke free of his strangle hold, I suddenly felt confused and overwhelmed. It took me at least a good two years before I was even remotely confidant in my ability to make executive decisions on my own.

As we drove towards the police station, I began reflecting on the events of the past few hours. Carlisle had been the pillar of strength that I desperately needed. He encouraged me to speak when I would have preferred to remain silent. He reassured me when fear gripped me so tightly I wasn't sure of my next breath. He uplifted me when despair would have swallowed me whole. He saw the courageous woman that I could be and spoke the words that eventually ignited me from within. Under his tender unyielding guidance, I had been transformed from a woman paralyzed by fear to one motivated into deliberate action. I was grateful for this, but I was also somewhat unnerved by it.

While Carlisle's personality and demeanor was the antithesis of my ex-husband's, I could still see one fatally flawed similarity. Carlisle, like Charles, was a man who liked being in control. At The Cotton Gin, he ordered my food for me. At the top of Stone Mountain, he lectured me … and he'd done so twice today; once in at the office and then again briefly on the front porch of the lawyer's office. He introduced us to Mr. Castellano's legal secretary. And now, he was personally chaperoning my visit to the police station. In his defense, none of these things had been done in a harsh or cruel manner. As far as I could tell, Carlisle was a kind loving man who only wanted what was best for me. The problem was … I worried that I wouldn't have any say so in deciding the parameters of 'what was best'.

"Carlisle," I looked over at him as I spoke, "Do you mind if I ask you a hypothetical question?"

"That depends on the nature of the question, my love," he replied casually as he changed lanes to pass a slow moving tractor-trailer.

"Politics," I came up with the answer on the spot.

"That's a rather inflammatory topic for a hypothetical question," he chuckled.

"I promise I won't delve into your party affiliation," I assured him. "I was just wondering: If you woke up on the morning after the next Presidential Election, and found that the United States had elected its first female President … what would you do?"

"The morning after the election," he asked.

"Yes, the morning after."

"Well, the Presidential Election in this country is held in November on a Tuesday. Which means the morning after would be a Wednesday," he glanced over at me and a broad grin illuminated his face. "I would get up and go to work, sweetheart, just like I do every Wednesday."

"Carlisle," I moaned in frustration.

"What?" he laughed. "You asked me what I do on the morning after the elections …"

"But _a woman_ has just been elected President," I interrupted.

"Good for her," he insisted as he continued to find amusement in my reaction, "let's hope she does a better job than the succession of miserable blokes who've occupied the Oval Office recently."

"You know, you're just …" I was suddenly at a loss, "you're just … outrageous!"

My exasperated statement made him laugh harder and put me in a huff. I crossed my arms defiantly and turned my gaze to the window.

"Oh, now Esme … my love," he soothed when he stopped laughing long enough to notice my disgruntled state, "there's no need for that. I thought your question was merely a bit of fun." After a brief pause he added, "If this is something serious … you know, you can ask me anything, Esme."

Anything, I sighed to myself … that remained to be seen.

"You ordered for me at the restaurant Saturday," I began sadly, "You introduced us at the lawyer's office. You lectured me like a child … well, alright I admit that I probably needed the lecture … but, I'm a grown, inelegant woman, Carlisle."

"Well of course you are," he answered, "I never meant to imply that you weren't."

"Oh, Carlisle," I sighed. He wasn't getting it … _why_ wasn't he getting it. "You are a gentle, warm, compassionate, and amazing man. Every minuet that I spend with you is wonderful and when we're together, I never want it to end. In fact, at the risk of driving you off because I sound like an idiot; I think I'm falling in love with you.

"That having been said. Carlisle … well … the thing is … you're a tad bit controlling … and that disturbs me. It took nearly two years and a whole lot of effort for me to … well … grow a back bone. I'm not sure that I'm ready to surrender it … not even to you."

For a while, he drove on in silence and I was sure that I'd made him mad. In six years of marriage, I never had the courage to confront Charles about his controlling nature. I knew better; a beating would have awaited me if I had.

"I'm sorry if I came off as controlling to you," he finally apologized quietly. "I assure you it isn't my intention. I love you Esme, and I want to look after you and protect you. I would never dream of asking you to surrender your independence to me. You're a profoundly brilliant and incredibly strong woman, and I find that combination absolutely intoxicating; I wouldn't have you any other way."

"Then, you'll stop ordering for me when we go out?"

"If that's what it takes to make you happy," he replied in a sigh. "But you must understand my love; I was brought up a certain way. My attitudes towards women may seem antiquated … you perceive them as controlling … in my mind, they're neither. Just as you wish to protect me from Charles, so too do I wish to care for and protect you. It is my nature, I cannot deny it."

"But protecting you from Charles is different," I insisted.

"Is it," he countered.

"Oh, Carlisle," I moaned in frustration again.

His hand found mine and he squeezed it reassuringly, "We'll work on it, my love, I promise."

**Carlisle:**

I took Esme to the police station and sat patiently in the small dingy waiting area while she gave her statement to the detectives. I would have preferred to accompany her, but since I wasn't her husband or a close relative I was forced to sit quietly and brood. While I waited, I took a moment to call Aro. He informed me that Jessica had delivered the box to Mr. Castellano's office. According to him, after Eleazar's a cursory inspection of the contents he declared it a treasure trove. That was welcome news.

I took another few minutes to place a call to Edward. I told him that I would likely be home late and that he and his brothers were welcome to dip into the household petty cash and order take out. When he asked me how late I would be, I told him that I wasn't sure, but that I would try to be in before midnight. If I'd had Jessica or Mike Newton's number I would have called to check up on Esme's daughters. By now they should be in the couple's care. My overall impression of the Jessica and Mike was a positive one; they seemed sensible and competent. Esme seemed to put a great deal of faith in them, so I could only assume that they must be trustworthy.

I wonder if that constitutes 'being controlling', I thought as I returned my phone to my pocket.

I wasn't _really_ controlling …was I? I took charge of situations when I deemed it necessary. I looked out for the safety and well being of my family and those that I cared about. I made every effort to be a good provider for my children. I was an unapologetic gentleman. For the life of me, I couldn't understand what part of my behavior she found so disagreeable.

If she wished to order her own food when we went out, then so be it; all she needed to do was say so. As for what she construed as lectures, well … what else was I supposed to do, remain silent and let her engage in reckless behavior or surrender to morbid despair. In fact, she ended up conceding that she had likely needed a good talking to on both accounts. It was irrational for her to think that, in my efforts to take care of her, that I would somehow rob her of her independence. That wasn't what I wanted at all. I loved her for her intelligence, strength, and courage; Esme, reborn and on fire, made my blood burn hot with desire.

God in heave, I though as a sudden realization hit me … surely she didn't think that I would ever lay my hands on her. My stomach turned at the thought of such a reprehensible act. In fifteen years of marriage to Rebecca, I never once struck her. We argued from time to time, yes, and disagreed on a variety of topic, some of which we never saw eye to eye on … but strike her … that was unthinkable.

I was still reeling from the thoughts when the door to the detective's office opened and Esme came out. Her eyes were puffy and I could tell that, at some point, she had been crying. Presently however, she seemed to be in control of her emotions. She scanned the waiting area and a smile lit her face when she caught sight of me; I felt my heart skip a beat as I basked in the glow of it. When she was beside me again I felt her press herself against my side as she seized my arm. I knew instantly that she needed my comfort, so I pulled her into my embrace.

"Are you alright," I whispered into her hair. I felt her nod against my chest in answer.

"I pressed charges against him; stalking, harassment and making terroristic threats," she insisted. "The detective said, once Mr. Castellano gets the judge to issue the restraining order, there will be serious jail time facing Charles if he violates it."

"Good. It's about time that he faced some consequences for his grotesque behavior." I continued to hold her a moment longer before releasing her. "I'm willing to wager that you missed lunch, just as I did. Are you hungry?"

"Starved actually," she replied.

"Would you like to join me for dinner then," I asked as I led her down the front steps of the police station. "I'll let you order for yourself," I added as extra incentive.

When she laughed at my last remark, I was relieved; above all else I wanted Esme to be happy. And, of course, I wanted this relationship to work because, at this point, I was certain that I couldn't live my life without her.

"All right, dinner sounds good, but I need to call Jess and check up on the girls."

When I saw that she was about to call her friend from her own cell, I stopped her. "Remember Mr. Castellano's warning," I insisted as I opened the car door for her. "Here, use mine," I offered her my phone before closing the door.

Letting her use my phone would serve two purposes: one, she could call without the chance of Charles listening in, and two, I could capture and save Jessica's number. Of course, I would have to get Esme a new phone with a different number very soon. She would likely protest, but perhaps if I made it a gift … she seemed to like my old wool sweater well enough.

I decided to keep dinner simple, so I took her to a Longhorn Steakhouse that I spotted on the way to the police station. Fortunately, they weren't busy and we were seated quickly. When the waitress came to take our order, I politely differed to Esme.

"Ladies first," I insisted.

"Will this be on the same check or separate?" The young woman asked, glancing back and forth between us.

"Separate checks please," Esme chimed in before I could answer.

In spite of feeling a bit wrinkled, I smiled and nodded my agreement to the waitress. It was an easy fix, I mused as I listened to Esme place her order. I would simply concoct a reason to excuse myself from the table at some point during our meal, find the waitress, and pay our bill. I agreed to allow her to order for herself, I had not agreed to allow her to go as far as paying her own check.

"You're upset," she observed as the waitress diapered.

"I would have preferred to pick up the check," I answered honestly.

"I have a job, Carlisle," she reminded me gently, "I'm not destitute."

I nodded, but didn't reply. I would never ask her to surrender her independence to me, but there were some things that I felt certain I couldn't get used to.

"You never did answer my question from earlier?" her teasing voice drew me from my thoughts.

"Which question, my love" we covered so much ground today, I was sure that it would be days before my brain processed it all.

"The one about the female President," she reminded me and flashed me one of her magical smiles as she did so.

"I told you, love," I answered casually, "I would get up and go to work. Emergency rooms don't shut down because of elections."

"Maybe I didn't phrase the question properly then," she sighed, "how would you feel about having a woman in the White House?"

Of course that's what she meant … I'd known that from the first moment that she asked me her very loaded hypothetical question … or was she trying to ascertain something else? Esme had spent the majority of her life in one of two conditions, under oppression or in concealment. There was more to her question than simply what I might think of a female President.

"Earlier today, when you were telling me your story," I began gently, "you eluded to the fact that your ex-husband took issue with you working … he wanted you to quit your job and stay home.

"Then later, you asked me a question about how I would feel with a woman in the White House. I think what you really meant to ask me is how I feel about a woman being in a position of power. Specifically, I think you want to know how I feel about your career pursuits. Am I on the right track so far?"

She nodded quietly.

"To answer your direct question, I wouldn't have a problem with a female President," I answered as the waitress brought out our food. When we were served, I continued. "Around the world, women do well in positions of power … why not here? But now to the heart of the matter …" I paused and softened my tone considerably as I didn't want to come off as harsh or arrogant, "I don't want to control you Esme, and I'm sorry if my behavior made me come off that way. I certainly would never ask you to give up a career that you're exceptionally good at and that you obviously enjoy. I'm not Charles, my love."

"I know," she sighed, "Why is this so difficult for me. I know you're nothing like him … and yet …"

"Sweetheart," I interrupted her gently as I took her hand, "are you free this weekend?"

"Are you asking me out," she seemed a bit confused.

"Yes," I wanted more than anything to take her out again, but I also knew our relationship needed work. "Do you like horses?"

"I love horses," then she scowled, "but I can't ride … my ankle."

"Let me worry about that." I insisted as I got up to excuse myself.

"Carlisle."

I nodded towards the restroom sign, "I need the Gent's, love … I'll be right back." Of course it would also be a convenient moment to catch the waitress about the check.

She caught my hand as I moved past her. When I stopped to see what the matter was, she was looking up lovingly at me. "Carlisle," she spoke my name softly as she traced an invisible design on my palm with her index finger; fire exploded in the pit of my stomach. "You know … if you were thinking of … oh, I don't know … finding the waitress and paying our bill … I want you to know …" she allowed her statement to trail off.

"Yes, my love," I encouraged. I had been hanging on every breathy syllable.

"I want you to know …" she paused again and then finished, "I would be very … hurt."


	28. Chapter 28

**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator.**

**Chapter 28**

**Esme:**

The girls and I spent Thursday night at Mike and Jessica's house. It was cramped, but I had to admit that I felt safer. To say that I was surprised when Aro showed up at the office on Friday was an understatement. He explained that he wanted to have _'his man'_ update my security system. For that reason, he needed the keys to the house and the existing alarm codes.

"Aro, I can't afford to pay for …" I beginning my protest.

"_Scusi_," he interrupted me politely, "I do not recall asking you for money."

"But Aro …" I tried again to no avail. He simply glared at me sternly as he held his hand out in anticipation of my handing over the house key.

"All evidence indicates that your ex-husband is a very dangerous man, _Caro_," he insisted as he continued to await my compliance, "I will not sleep well at night until I am satisfied that your home has the best security system available."

Why did all the men in my life have to be control freaks, I sighed to myself as I fished the house key from my purse. Maybe I put off some sort of weird _helpless_ vibe that attracted every would-be Sir Lancelot in a hundred mile radius. That must be it; I was a walking talking damsel-in-distress beacon. Reluctantly, I surrendered my house key to Aro who, in turn, smiled in triumph.

"There, that was not so bad," he cooed in his doctor's voice, "and now the alarm code, _per favore_."

"Aro," I tried again to dissuade him but he wasn't having it.

"_Caro_, I am not a man accustomed to begging," he insisted. His tone remained soothing, but his eyes burned with a clear warning that he wasn't going to put up with much more of my foolishness.

I sighed heavily as I jotted the alarm code on a Post-it note and then handed it to him. I was just beginning to find the courage within me to stand up to Carlisle's well-meaning yet overbearing paternal nature; would I ever be able to do the same with Aro.

"Esme," he spoke my name softly, making it sound like music with his charming Tuscan accent. His hand came to rest lightly on my shoulder; when I looked up, I found an affectionate smile shining back at me. "Do you know why I am doing this, _Caro_?

"Because, by your estimation, my security system is a piece of junk," I answered sadly.

"That is true," he chuckled, "but that is not why I am doing this." He paused a moment and when he spoke again the soft yet serious tone returned to his voice, "Nothing on this earth is more important to me than my family; I live and breathe for them. Now, you might think that when I say_ family_ I am referring to Sulpicia, Alec, and Jane … and you would be correct ... to a point. Yes, they are my most immediate family and as such they are my most immediate concern … but they are not my _only_ concern.

"I also consider Carlisle and his sons to be a part of my family and because of this; they too come under my watchful protection. More recently, I have come to think of you and your beautiful daughters as a part of my family … which means that the four of you now come under my protection as well. Because of this, I feel especially compelled to ensure your safety. That, _Caro_, is why I am doing this."

His gentle words fell upon my heart like a welcome rain after years and years of drought. How long had it been since someone actually cared for me; since I was a child, since before my parents died. Up until now I only had my girls and, of course, Mike and Jessica who loved me like family. In spite of trying not to, I started crying.

"Oh, here now," Aro soothed as he patted my back gently, "If Carlisle were to walk in right now, he would accuse me saying something to distress you."

"Come with me," he insisted when I wasn't able to regain my composure right away. Oddly enough we ended up in the same conference room that Carlisle and I used previously. He settled me in a chair and offered me tissue.

"What is it Esme; have I offended you?" his concern was evident in his voice.

I wasn't able to speak yet, but I shook my head.

"Then, I do not understand why you cry."

"Too long," I began between sobs, "just the girls and … Mike and Jess … no other family."

"I see," he soothed as I worked to pull myself together, "You have had to stand all alone in this world for far too long. Well, _Caro_, you are alone no longer. From now on you may count the Veracini family as your own, just as we count you and your girls as a part of ours."

"Thank you," I managed. I was beginning to feel calmer now. "What … what does that word mean?"

"You mean … _Caro_?"

I nodded.

A warm smile spread across Aro's face, "It means_ 'dear one'_. If I wished to make it more personal, I would say _'Il mio caro'_, which is_ 'my dear one'_." He regarded me thoughtfully for several moments before adding, "Would you like to learn Italian, Esme? I would be more than happy to teach you."

"Oh, I don't think I could," I dismissed his generous offer politely, "not at my age."

"_Sciocchezze_," he chuckled warmly as he spoke. "That means_ 'nonsense'_ by the way. You are an intelligent enough woman; you should be able to pick up the language in no time. I think we shall begin your lessons as soon as this business with your ex-husband is put to rest."

I could see that there was no stopping Aro once he latched onto an idea. For better or worse, I was going to learn Italian and that was final.

**0o0o0o0o**

Since my home had been commandeered by Aro's security experts, the girls and I spent another night at Mike and Jessica's. They didn't mind, and neither did I. With the uncertainty of Charles lurking in the shadows, being close to family and friends infused me with the will I needed to remain strong.

Saturday morning dawned bright with a crisp holiday chill in the air. Thanksgiving was only a week away. After a hearty family breakfast that Jess and I put together, the girls got ready to go over to Aro's house for the day. He called on Jessica's phone around 8:00 pm the previous evening to inform me that the girls should ware cloths that they didn't mind getting dirty and to bring along a change of nice clothes. When I asked him what he was up to, he cooed a sweet sounding phrase in Italian at me and assured me everything would be fine. Since I learned earlier that day that arguing with Aro was about as useful as arguing with a parked car, I let it go.

Carlisle was coming over around 10:00 am to pick me up. When we talked last night, oddly enough also on Jessica's cell, he told me his boys were also expected, in work clothes, at Aro's house this morning. That revelation deepened my suspicion, but I knew that, no matter what manner of mischief Aro was up, he would keep the girls safe. With regard to our date, Carlisle suggested that I dress down.

"Like you would back home on the farm," he told me with a smile in his voice. When I questioned him further, he said it was a surprise.

So I stood at the top of the stairs in jeans, a long sleeve denim shirt that I borrowed from Mike and one cowboy boot on my good foot. Jess and Mike appraised me from the foot of the stairs; they looked at each other and giggled.

"Do I look that ridicules?"

"No," Mike assured me, "your just … well, you're … "

"You're glowing honey," Jess supplied for her stupefied husband.

"And you should wear a hat," Mike recovered. When I reached the bottom of the stairs he crowned my head with his favorite brown Stetson. The hat swallowed my head and covered my eyes.

"Uhm, Mike … you know I love you like a brother," I giggled, "but, uhm … this hat is about three sizes too big."

Laughter erupted from all three of us and we almost didn't hear the knock at the door. I could see Carlisle's car through the front window; he was parked in the driveway.

I gave Mike back his hat before answering the door. Carlisle stood waiting on the front porch dressed in jeans, boots, a long-sleeved shirt, and a leather jacket. If I was glowing at the top of the stair, then I went super-nova when Carlisle smiled at me.

"Are you ready?" he asked politely.

"Yeah, just let me get a jacket." When I turned to go to the coat closet, Jess was standing right there with a jacket in hand.

"Have her home by a decent hour," Mike grumped jokingly from behind his wife, "And no funny business."

I was so embarrassed that I turned three shades of scarlet, but Carlisle obviously found it amusing. He burst out laughing. "Yes, sir," he replied when he managed to get a hold of himself, "I'll have her back, safe and sound, and before her curfew."

"See to it that you do," Mike insisted. Then he turned to me, "Have a good time honey, but if this boy doesn't treat you right … you just call your ol' Uncle Mike. I have an ax handle in the garage …"

"Mike," Jess snapped. Then she turned to me, "Goodbye you two," she chuckled, "have fun."

Carlisle opened the car door for me and helped me inside. Mike and Jess had moved out onto the front porch and I waved at them as we drove away.

"I'm sorry about Mike …" I began my apology after a few minutes, "sometimes he …"

"Don't," Carlisle interrupted me sternly, "he may have given his warning jokingly, but make no mistake … your friend Mike was looking out for your best interest. I respect that and so should you."

I was taken aback by Carlisle's admonition and for the next half hour, I rode in silence. Hadn't we just had a long talk about being controlling? As we got on I-75 headed south, he reached over and took my hand. I glanced his way and he flashed a sad smile at me.

"I know, you don't have to say it" he finally sighed, "old habits die the hardest. But he really was being protective, and … honestly … that makes me feel a whole lot better."

"Really?"

"Really … especially considering the events of the past week" he insisted, "you have good friends, Esme."

"So, where are we going," I asked after a rather protracted and uncomfortable silence.

"Can't I just surprise you," he asked with a grin.

"You can tell me" I replied trumping his grin with one of my own, "and it will still be a surprise."

"_Tír na nÓg_," he answered.

"Excuse me."

He was laughing now and I couldn't help but giggling too.

"My friend, Liam O'Neil, his wife Siobhan, and their daughter Maggie live on a large farm down near Monticello," he told me as he maneuvered us through a spot of heavy traffic. "The farm is called _Tír na nÓg_. The name means _Land of the Young_, but the locals in the area just call it The Flying Shamrock. They breed, raise and train horses."

"What kind of horses?"

He looked over at me and his mischievous grin was back, "magical ones."

Carlisle was being playful and mysterious, I couldn't help laughing. "Oh, so … what are you saying, they breed unicorns or something."

"Or something," he teased then his voice took on a more serious tone, "Please, Esme … don't poke and prod anymore. It troubles me when I'm forced to tell you outright lies, so if you keep needling me, I'll have no choice but to tell you everything … and I really want to surprise you."

I agreed to let the matter drop and we found safer topics to discuss. After an hour of driving Carlisle exited the Interstate and continued our journey on back roads. The countryside that lay beyond the sterile monotone of I-75 was stunning; as far as the eye could see the tree covered hills were alight in shades of red, orange and yellow. It didn't take long for me to become lost as we went deeper and deeper into the remote Georgia back country. I could live out here, I thought at one point … with the help of a good GPS of course.

"We're here," Carlisle announced as he turned off the narrow two lane state road and onto an even narrower gravel drive. The rusty farm gate at the head of the driveway was swung open wide to welcome us.

"There's nothing here." I commented as I surveyed the massive open pastures on either side of the drive. Ahead of us, beyond the edge of the pasture, the gravel drive disappeared into the trees. The only singe of civilization was the mail box near the road, and a wooden sing over the farm gate that read_ Tír na nÓg_. The name on the sing was flanked on either side by a shamrock with angel wings … The Flying Shamrock.

"Be patient, my love," he cooed as we left the road behind. "The farm is in the valley beyond the hill there," he pointed to the trees in front of us.

As we entered the woods, the gravel drive began to climb, becoming a series of switchbacks that eventually brought us to the summit of the hill. As we crested the top, a broad green valley opened out below us on the other side. The farm house lay nested in the center of the valley, and was surrounded by a complex of barns, sheds, two grain silos, and countless acres of fences in pastures and paddocks. It was the house however that fascinated me; it looked as though someone had plucked up a centuries old Irish farm house and deposited it, thatched roof, whitewashed walls and all, right in the middles of central Georgia.

I looked over at Carlisle who found renewed amusement in the look of shear wonder on my face. "Wait until you see it up close," he insisted as we began our descent down the backside of the hill.

As we drew near the house, Carlisle rolled down the windows. Crisp autumn air flavored with the smell of hay and horses rushed in to embrace us. I was instantly transported back in time, to my childhood in Ohio … back to a happier days before Charles and my nightmare marriage. A chorus of horse whines greeted us as we pulled into the farm yard.

"How's my surprise so far?" Carlisle asked as he cut the engine.

"I … I don't know what to say," I replied as I tried to get a grip on my emotions. Carlisle came around and helped me out of the car, "This place is gorgeous," I breathed as I stepped out into the afternoon sun.

I was still gawking when the most enormous dog I'd ever seen strolled casually up to me and began a comprehensive investigation my shirt. He was a shaggy beast with legs that went on for miles, a massive head, and soft intelligent brown eyes. I didn't know a whole lot about dogs, but I recognized this one as an Irish Wolfhound. One of my architecture professors had one, and the ox of a dog often accompanied him to campus.

"That'll do Angus," a man's voice called out, "Why don't you busy yourself with findn' that fox that's been poken' about."

The dog looked over his huge shoulder in the direction that the voice came from, stared for a moment, and then bounded off.

"You'll have to forgive Angus, lassie," the disembodied man's voice boomed again. Moments later, the owner of the voice appeared out of the darkness of an open barn door, "He's big fella, and he gives folks a start when they see him, but he's as gentle as a lamb."

"Liam," Carlisle greeted the hulking man. Liam was a good head and a half taller that Carlisle and twice as brawny.

"Carlisle," Liam returned the greeting as the two men shook hands and then embraced. "it's good to see you again."

"Liam, this is …" he cut his introduction short as he glanced over at me. My permission, I thought … he remembered our talk and he wanted my permission to introduce me. I smiled and gave a slight nod. "This is Esme Platt," he finished the introduction.

"A pleasure Ms. Platt," Liam offered me his hand.

"Thank you," I answered, "you have a beautiful… your farm is … this place …"

"Esme is an architect," Carlisle mercifully came to my rescue, "I think she find your farm most enchanting."

"Liam, has Carlisle …" I heard a female voice and turned to find a small woman with copper colored hair coming from the same dark barn. "Carlisle," she laughed his name and then ran forward to greet him.

"Siobhan," he exclaimed happily as they embraced, "How are you … and where's Maggie?"

"I'm grand, you old blue eyed scoundrel," she answered him, "Maggie started university this fall … Valdosta State."

"Congratulations." He turned to me again and I gave him another nod. "Siobhan, this is Esme Platt … my girlfriend."

The addition of the phrase 'girlfriend' to Carlisle's introduction came as a bit of a shock to me. Siobhan's reaction however was even more shocking.

"Oh, is she now," the woman answered as she eyed me suspiciously; she was clearly giving me the once over.

"Can she cook?" the copper haired woman asked.

"I … I would … assume so," Carlisle answered in a flustered tone.

"Well, can she clean then," Siobhan continued her inquisition.

"Well, I …" Carlisle floundered.

"Ugh," she moaned in frustration then she turned her interrogation towards me. "What do you know about horses … can you ride?"

I glanced over at Carlisle briefly before answering her. "My parents owned a farm just outside of Columbus, Ohio. We kept a pair of Belgian Drafts for chores around the farm and a few Quarter Horses for working stock. In high school, I was the Ohio State Junior Barrel Racing Champion, three years in a row." I paused and glared at the little copper haired Irish woman, "And I can bake a cherry pie … quick as a cat can wink an eye. Do my qualifications meet with your approval?"

An eerie silence fell over the farm yard as Siobhan and I continued to glare at each other. I wondered if Carlisle would be angry with me, after all these people were friends of his. To my surprise however, just as I though surly she would tell us to leave or set the dog on us, Siobhan burst into uncontrollable laughter. I glanced over at Carlisle who wore his infamous mischievous grin_. Had I just been pranked?_

"Of course you meet my approval darlin'" the woman soothed, "I was just haven' a bit o' fun at your expense."

"Carlisle told us all about you last night on the phone," Liam chimed in. "But he neglected to mention the barrel racing champion part."

"Or the fact that you've got a bit of the spit fire in you," Siobhan took up. "I think she's a keeper Carlisle."

"So do I," he answered quietly.

Siobhan excused herself to go attend to some business in the house. Meanwhile Liam started our grand tour with a visit to one of the nearby paddocks. Several horses grazed leisurely on the emerald green carpet of grass enclosed with in the neat white fence. They were some of the most stunning horses I'd ever seen; massive black and white piebalds with long flowing manes and tails to match, and generous fathering on their lower legs. Carlisle wasn't kidding when he said they were magical horses.

"What breed are they?" I asked Liam as we watched the horses graze.

"Gypsy Vanner,"he replied proudly.

"They're absolutely gorgeous," I muttered in awe.

"Would you like to meet one of the lads up close," he offered. When I nodded enthusiastically, both he and Carlisle chuckled.

Liam led us through one of the barns and into a private court yard. He told us to wait there and then the diapered back into the barn. Ten minutes later, he returned accompanied by a huge gelding.

"This is O'Donovan's Lucky Shamrock, more affectionately known as Shep."

The horse turned his massive head toward me and proceeded to take an interest in the buttons on my shirt. His quivering nose and warm breath against my stomach made me giggle. It was the expression in his sky blue eye, however, that captured my heart. I was in love.

"You can give him a pat if you like," Liam encouraged. "He's quite the lady's man … in fact I think he's taken a shining to you."

I spent the next few minutes petting Shep as if we were old friends. It felt so good to be around horses again; I hadn't realized that I missed it so much. I wanted to have a horse when Charles and I were married, but he refused. Charles wouldn't allow me to have animals or anything else that made me happy.

"You said your family had a pair of Drafts," Liam deep voice and Irish bough interrupted our love-fest. "Do you remember how to harness up?" I nodded and then watched as the big man vanished into the dark barn.

We were alone again and I look over to see what Carlisle was up to. He wore the brightest smile that I had ever seen; his face was illuminated by it.

"Oh, Carlisle," I sighed as I fell into his welcoming arms. He held me tightly and kissed the top of my head.

"Can I assume that you're happy," he spoke into my hair.

"If I were any happier, I think I would explode."

"Oh, that's too bad," he muttered sadly, "perhaps we shouldn't go on the carriage ride and picnic I had planned."

I pushed away from him just far enough so that I could look into his face. "You're joking … really, a carriage ride … and a picnic?"

"Just you … me … and Shep," he insisted.

_**AN: THIS chapter was supposed to be chapter 29. My originally planed chapter 28 was going to be about the children's day at Aro's house. Unfortunately, Carlisle said something to me about horses and, well, that did it. I am hopelessly horse crazy and he knows it. So next chapter you'll find out what Aro's up to and then maybe after that we'll drop in and see how the carriage ride and picnic went.**_

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	29. Chapter 29

**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of it's creator.**

**AN: Hey gang, I just wanted to say thanks to all of you for your encouragement, I really appreciate it!**

**Chapter 29**

**Aro:**

Carlisle's boys arrived at my house first. This was not a surprise as their home was closer to mine than Esme's. She and her friend Jessica both lived all the way out in the southeastern quadrant of Cobb County. As expected, Edward drove over with his brothers in tow. He parked his silver Volvo in it's usual place and the gaggle of boys was soon inundating my front foyer. Each one was dress in some incarnation of old jeans, t-shirt, jacket, and sneakers and each one carried a bag of some sort that I hoped contained better clothes.

"Good morning gentlemen," I greeted them pleasantly.

They replied in a chorus of unintelligible grunts. On closer inspection, it looked as if the trio had just rolled out of bed. I inhaled deeply and sighed; at least they smelled clean which meant that they had showered before coming over.

"Have you eaten?" I asked.

More disgruntled grunts came in reply. Finally Emmett produced a coherent sentence, "We had cereal and milk."

I shook my head as I sighed again, cereal and milk would not be sufficient sustenance for what I had planned this morning.

"Put your bags in the game room and then come to the kitchen." I instructed them. I watched the group trail off towards the game room before going off to the kitchen myself.

I found my beloved singing to herself as she fixed breakfast for Jane and Alec. I walked up behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and bent around to kiss her cheek. _Mio Dio_, I would move heaven and earth for my beloved Sulpicia.

"Sit," she insisted with a giggle.

"In a minuet," I replied, still holding her. "Do you think you have enough for Carlisle's sons … their idea of having a good breakfast was cereal and milk."

She was laughing now, and the sound of it was like a symphony in my ears. "Pancakes are easy to make," she answered me in Italian, "and there is plenty of ham and fruit and more milk too." Then she scowled, "you will not be too harsh on them, Aro."

Sulpicia had the tenderest heart of any woman on earth. I had reluctantly told her of how the young ones had gotten into trouble, though I spared her the bulk of the details. She understood my desire to straighten the young ones out before someone's life was irreversibly ruined. She also knew me to be unapologetically old-fashioned; I was raised with the philosophy of _'spare the rod and spoil the child'_ and I applied that principal in my home. When the children were born, she agreed to allow me to handle disciplinary matters, but not without a very serious warning; if I ever stepped over the line between discipline and abuse she would take the children and leave me … and she would never look back. I held this admonition firmly in my mind every time that I dealt with our children's misbehavior.

"Beloved," I cooed softly in our native tongue so as to keep our conversation somewhat privet. "Do you honestly think that I intend to march the six of them up to my office, and take each of them for a trip across my knee?"

She did not speak, but her expression and the fierceness in her eyes told me everything I needed to know.

"While I might find that solution appropriate," I sighed, "and I am quite certain that it would prove effective, it is not my place nor is it my right to physically discipline another's child." I took her into my arms then and held her, "I have a more beneficial exercise planned for the young ones … please trust me, beloved."

"I will trust you," she informed me as she freed herself from my embrace and went back to cooking, "but I will be watching."

The tone of her voice and her expression made me laugh, but there was no mistaking her intention … she was absolutely serious. "I welcome your scrutiny, beloved," I soothed as I sat down at the table and took up my newspaper.

Edward and his brothers trouped into the kitchen and I instructed them to sit down at the table. It was fortunate that our kitchen table could accommodate guests almost as well as the table in our formal dining room. Soon, a platter full of pancakes, ham, and fresh fruit graced the center of the table. I asked the blessing before setting loose the hungry hound to feed upon the bounty.

When the front doorbell rang, I excused myself to answer it. I was not surprised to find Esme's beautiful daughters standing on my front steps. I was surprised, however, to see Mike Newton standing behind them. I was looking forward to a brief chat with Jessica, but that would have to wait until later.

"Aro," Mike greeted me with a nod.

"Mr. Newton, thank you for bringing the girls." I stepped back to allow them to enter.

"Jess was busy," he informed me and I could tell he felt a bit awkward.

"Of course," I dismissed, in an attempt to sooth his anxiety. "Did your men deliver the supplies that I requested?" perhaps talk of business would set him at ease.

"Yes, but …" he paused and a puzzled expression clouded his features, "If you're considering further renovations to your home Dr. Veracini, my firm would be more than happy to …"

"Calm yourself, Mr. Newton. I am more than pleased with the services that your firm has provided on the carriage house project. Should the need arise in the future, I consider your firm and the lovely Ms. Platt as my architects; I would use no one else."

"But you ordered a whole pallet full of …"

"Yes I did," I interrupted him before he had a chance to say too much and spoil everything. "And I thank you for having your men deliver it. I do not own the truck or other necessary equipment for such a task … I will see to it that you and your men are generously compensated, of course."

"Well, I … uhm … I, uhm …" he shook his head in confusion.

"I will not keep the girls later than 8:30," I change the subject again. "I will have one of them call you by a quarter of eight. Will that afford you enough driving time from Smyrna?"

"Oh, yeah … that's like forty five minutes," he caught himself, "On a Saturday evening that should be enough time."

"If you encounter unexpected delays, do not worry," I soothed, "they will be safe in my home until you arrive."

With that, he dismissed himself and I closed the front door. By the time I led the girls into the kitchen, Sulpicia and Jane had the remains of breakfast cleared from the table. Still, I had to be certain that the girls were in order for a rigorous morning.

"Have the three of you had breakfast?" I asked them.

They nodded in unison, but it was Isabella who spoke, "Mom and Aunt Jess got up early and fixed waffles, bacon, eggs, and grits."

"Good, then we can get on with the morning's business." I started for the glass double doors that led from the kitchen out onto the patio, "Follow me please."

"I'm not going anywhere until I know what this is all about," Edward grumped. I turned back to find him standing defiantly in the center of my kitchen with his arms crossed. Perhaps I had been too hasty in dismissing the idea of physically disciplining another man's child; by my estimation Edward could certainly use it.

"If you're so keen to know," I replied as I started for the doors again, "then follow me."

I stepped out onto the patio and held the door. Esme's daughters followed immediately behind me, but it took a few minutes for the boys to emerge. I led them past the pool, out along the pathway towards the carriage house, and beyond it to the northern most perimeter of my property. Here I stopped. When the young ones were gathers around me I pointed to the ten foot high wooden fence behind me.

"This is your project for the morning," I began. "I recently had this installed to hide the unsightly yet necessary electric fence on the other side of it. The contractor who installed it offered to paint it, but I assured him that I had a crew of eager young people who could do the job for me."

"Seriously, Aro" Edward groaned, "You hauled us out here on a cold Saturday morning to paint a fence. Do I look like Huckleberry Finn to you?"

"No. You look like a young man who is on his way to prison in the very near future if he doesn't get his act together," I growled in return.

"Why do you care," he scoffed, "Carlisle doesn't."

Rage suddenly consumed me and I quite nearly lost all control of me senses. If one of my own children had dared to speak to me with such utter disrespect, it would have been a very ugly scene indeed. But this was not my child, I reminded myself, this was the son of my best friend, and while I might wish to handle his impertinence in a more aggressive way I had to remember my boundaries. The palm of my hand literally itched with the desire to make physical contact with the side of Edwards face, but I held myself in check.

"You will watch your mouth, Edward Cullen," I hissed angrily, "Carlisle is a good man; he is a far better father to you than you are a son to him."

"Are we really …" it was young Isabella, her voice was practically dripping with fear, "are we really going to paint a fence?"

I was beginning to regret my outburst, but unfortunately, Edward needed to be taken in hand. "Yes,_ mia cara_" I responded gently, it had not been my intention to frighten her. "You will indeed be painting a fence."

"But I thought …" Alice chimed in next, her voice was also tinted with fear, "Mom said that we would be helping Mrs. Sulpicia with some cooking."

You will have to take more care in the future, I chided myself. These girls were quite sensitive to both my tone and demeanor and I would have to work very hard to keep both under very tight control.

"That was my original plan," I explained, "But this project lends itself better to my purposes."

"And just what are your purposes?" Jasper inquired calmly. Of the three boys, he had always been the most levelheaded.

"That is for me to know, and you to find out." I pointed to a pallet loaded with several five gallon buckets of paint, "These are your supplies, there is enough paint here to cover the entire fence, but … there are only three paint rollers. So I have devised a little friendly competition for you.

"You will divide yourselves into three teams of two; one boy and one girl per team. I do not care who pairs with whom so long as you are teamed up acordingly. The fence has been divided into three equal sections using painter's tape. The team that covers the most square footage of fence between now and noon wins. But there is a catch … you must work together, as the team member actually doing the painting will be blindfolded. You will have to rely on your partner to ensure that you are covering the fence evenly and completely, to make sure that you do not spill paint because this will cost you points, and to guide you in general."

"Oh come on Aro," Edward groaned. "This sounds like something off one of those stupid reality game shows. If you want your fence painted, that's fine … just give us all brushes or whatever and let us get to work."

"Because you are so enthusiastic about my little project, Edward," I purred dangerously, "why don't you go first in selecting a teammate."

He glared at me for several minutes; if looks could kill I would have died where I stood. Finally he pointed at Isabella, "I'll take you."

"I have a name you know," she insisted as she went to stand next to him.

"Yeah, whatever," Edward grumbled.

"Excellent choice Edward," I cooed. After a rough start, this was beginning to get interesting. "Jasper or Emmett; which one of you will select next?"

"Hey, why do they get to do all the choosing," Alice complained.

"Because,_ cara_, the boys will be the ones who are blindfolded and doing all the painting." I smiled as I supplied the answer, "You and your sisters will be telling them what to do."

"Pick your poison … sweet," Rosalie sounded entirely too pleased with the idea.

"I'll choose next," Jasper spoke up, "Alice, will you be on my team?"

What a gentleman, I thought, just like his father. I was more than a little surprised by the smile that curled Alice's lips as she went to join Jasper. Perhaps there wasn't as much animosity in this group as I first thought.

"Uhm, Rose," Emmett looked hopefully at Rosalie, "You and me?"

"Like I have a choice," Rosalie groaned, but the light in her eyes didn't match the disgruntled tone in her voice.

How curious, I thought as I produced three bandanas from my coat pocket and distributed them to the girls. Some level of attraction obviously existed between Alice and Jasper. Rosalie made Emmett visibly nervous. For her part, though she tried to hide it behind an indifferent exterior, Rosalie seemed to feel something for Emmett. Only Edward and Bella remained an obstacle of concern.

"Well it is a start at least," I muttered to myself in Italian.

After blindfolding the boys, distributing the paint and supplies, and getting each team started, I retired to a nearby chaise lounge with the rest of my paper. I was only pretending to read; in reality I was spying. If my reading act did not fool them, then I would pretend to sleep.

The teams got off to a grumpy start, but each pair eventually settled in to a rhythm. I was monitoring all three of them, but Isabella and Edward were of particular interest to me. Personality wise, they could not be more opposite, yet I was reminded of the tenants of Eastern philosophy … for every ying there is a yang.

I casually listened to the quiet chatter between the pairs; instructions mostly … '_apply paint here'_, or _'be careful with the bucket'_ … that sort of thing. Not a sound however, came from Edward and Isabella. So when she finally broke the iron grip of their silence, my attention became instantly focused on what she had to say.

"So why are you such an ass," she demanded even as she helped him dip his paint roller in the paint tray.

"Just shut up," he grumped. "I picked you cause I thought you were quiet."

"Hey, I wouldn't even be here if you hadn't been all up in Rose's face about that rematch," she corrected him hotly. "You're the one who wanted to go to the bar, you're the one who picked a fight with the goon, and you're the one that got us arrested. So get your butt off your shoulders and answer my question … why are you always such an ass!"

"Mind your own business," he barked back. "Besides, I didn't pick a fight with Quil … I was saving your sex-pot sister from him, ok … so just back off."

"I thought you hated Rose," I heard her ask next, even as she deliberately move his hand and the paint roller over; he'd been painting the same board for the last five minutes. "It helps if you move a little to your left after every three strokes or so," she offered quietly.

"Sure, thanks," he replied in a less combative tone. "I don't hate Rose, by the way."

"Really," she laughed, "Ok, if you say so. You certainly act like you hate her … so what's up with that?"

"I can't tell you," he answered flatly and sped up his painting.

"No, you're missing too many patches … don't do that," she instructed him and then moved his hand back several boards to where he was before. "Look," I heard her sigh in frustration, "we're out here early on a cold Saturday morning painting a fence, because you're pretending to hate my sister. I don't get it Edward … you owe us a better explanation than that."

They fell into silence and I thought surely she would get nothing more out of him, but thankfully I was wrong.

"I'll tell you," he finally managed, "but only you, and you've got to keep it a secret."

"Is it something your brothers know?"

"No." he replied, "not even they know what I'm about to tell you."

"Gee … uhm … Ok." She seemed stunned and just a little suspicious.

"Come closer and lean in," he instructed her as he stopped painting.

"Uhm, I'm not so sure about that."

"Come on Bella, it's not like I'm going to kiss you or anything," he insisted, "I want to whisper in your ear … that's all."

At this point I peered discreetly around my newspaper to watch the exchange. Isabella bent in close and Edward lowered his head so he could whisper in her ear. I strained the limits of my hearing to catch what was said between them.

"_She reminds me of my Mom,"_ he breathed in her ear.

"Wait, what," Isabella was obviously caught off guard by this, "What … how … how does she … you know?"

"Lean in again," he instructed her and then waited. When she was close enough he whispered in her ear, _"Her hair … it's her hair."_

"My mom died a few years ago," he pulled back and continued in a quiet tone, though he was no longer whispering. "It hurt … a lot. I missed her something awful, and then … well later … I got …" He paused and bent forward. I watched Isabella instinctively bend in, _"I got angry … mad at my Mom … for dyeing and leaving us. Rose reminds me of Mom and … I get angry when I see her."_

"That's pretty deep Edward," Isabella commented respectfully. "Thank you … for trusting me."

"Yeah, whatever," In the blink of an eye he closed himself off again. "Just remember your promise … you can't tell."

"I know." She replied as she helped him load the roller with more paint. "I can keep a secret."

_**AN: And now you know … you know what the bur under Edward's saddle is all about. Yeah, it's deeper that just Rose's hair, but Edward isn't ready for that much truth just yet … he's still trying to figure out if he really trusts Bella.**_


	30. Chapter 30

**NOTE:**** I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator.**

**Chapter 30**

**Carlisle:**

From the moment we entered the valley, _Tír na nÓg_ started working it's magic on Esme. I watched her begin to visibly relax as years of pent up stress and anxiety burned away like fog before the unyielding blaze of sunrise. When I rolled down the windows and allowed the crisp country air to fill the car, I watched with fascination as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. In that moment, I could have sworn that I caught a glimpse of the freckle faced girl that would one day grow into the beautiful woman I now adored. If I had the power to stop time, I would have frozen it in that instant and basked in the glory of this energized and amazing woman forever.

What I didn't realize in the car was that the transformative power of the farm had only just begun to take hold. The curative powers of _Tír na nÓg_ was not unlike those of the therapeutic drugs which I administer every day in the ER; they begin to take effect within minutes but don't reach full potency sometimes for hours. Every second that ticked by in this place, every hay-scented breath of mid-day air, and every affectionate nuzzle of Shep's warm nose had an effect on her that brought me ever closer to the real Esme Ann Platt.

As I stood back and watched with delight as Esme help Liam harness Shep, I couldn't help but wonder if I might finally be seeing her as she had been before her nightmare with Charles. The more I considered this, the more incensed I became; the brute had taken a beautiful, strong, and intelligent woman and reduced her to misery. Never again, I thought fiercely, not so long as there is life, breath, and strength remained within me.

"Don't just stand there gawking Carlisle," Liam called as he maneuvered the richly decorated Bradford Cart into place. "Come help me hold up the shafts."

I joined Liam holding the shafts of the cart; it was heavier than it looked and I could understand his need for assistance.

"Back him between the shafts Esme," Liam instructed, "nice and easy."

"Back, Shep," she spoke quietly to the horses as she applied gentle backwards pressure on the bit in the animal's mouth. Obediently Shep moved backwards into the space between the shafts. "Good boy, Shep, good boy" she praised him and gave his massive neck a loving pat.

"You handled him well," Liam observed proudly.

"He's easy to handle," she dismissed, "he's a happy horse and he likes what he does; that makes a big difference."

"We treat them all like family here," Siobhan's voice boomed from behind me. She appeared from the darkened barn carrying a large wicker picnic basket and a rolled up tartan blanket. As she placed the basket and blanket on the back of the cart she gave me a knowing wink. The previous evening when we talked by phone, she insisted on personally preparing our picnic lunch.

"And we're very finicky about their adoptive parents," Liam added as he fastened the harnessing to the cart, "We don't let just any Tom, Dick, or Harry purchase one of our lads."

"Sometimes we make mistakes though," Siobhan remarked sadly, "we did with Shep here. A man from Pennsylvania bought him as a yearling. Eighteen months later, Liam and I went up there to reclaim him from a livestock auction. He was dirty, undernourished, and severely lame. The onsite veterinarian at the stockyard offered to put him down; said he'd never make the trip back to Georgia."

"Yet here he stands," Liam said with a hint of both pride and regret in his voice.

Esme's expression suddenly went cloudy, "are you sure he's sound enough for this," she pointed to the cart, "it looks pretty heavy."

"Calm yourself, lassie," Liam soothed, "Shep's as fit and strong as an ox these days. Aren't you lad," he gave the Shep's shoulder several pats. "Last year we had him out on the show circuit; he won more ribbons in the Ladies Cart division than you can shake a stick at."

Shep chose that moment to turn his massive head and nuzzled the front of Esme's shirt again. I watched with delight as, for a second time, the woman I loved dissolved into tender affection for the behemoth of a horse. In that instant, I knew two things with absolute certainty; firstly, that Esme was destined to be mine forever … no matter what it took on my part to accomplish this … and secondly, at some point, I would be purchasing a horse.

While Liam held Shep steady, I helped Esme up onto the cart's seat. Siobhan brought out a set of plastic step that made things go easier, but it was still quite a climb for a woman with one foot in an air cast. I was thankful when she set the plastic steps in the back of the cart next to the picnic basket and blanket.

"Who's driving," Esme asked as I climbed up to sit beside her.

My answer was to take up the reins and smile broadly at her. "You're not the only one with horse experience, my love." With that I gave a little click and snapped the reins lightly. Shep moved forward and the cart gave a little jerk as it followed suit. In minuets, I had us through the courtyard gate and out on a hard packed dirt road that snaked through the adjacent pastures.

"Tell me, doctor, where you did you happen to learn this interesting little skill," Esme asked with a delighted giggle.

"I know many _interesting little skills_, my love," I hinted in what I hoped was a flirtatious tone. There was a smile on her lips when she looked at me but warning danced in her eyes; _not just yet_, was the response I read in her expression. Very well Esme, I thought as I guided Shep off the main dirt road and onto a more intimate trail, I can be infinity patient when I need to be.

"You will recall," I sighed, "that I told you I spent almost as much time in England as I did in Boston when I was growing up."

She nodded before snuggling into my side. I took the reins in one hand and wrapped my other arm around her shoulders.

"I spent my summers in England; half that time in London with my mother's parents and the other half on my Uncle Waldo's farm in Wales. My Uncle had horses, and that's where I learned to drive."

"Can you ride too?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid I'm no barrel racing champion," I insisted. "When you ankle heals and Marcus clears you for it, we'll go riding together. I actually enjoy the sport, but it's been years since I was last in the saddle."

"English or Western?" she asked from her nest against my side.

"English, of course," I chuckled, "but I'm not adverse to Western."

As Shep plodded along the wooded trail, Esme and I slipped into a comfortable silence; each of us quietly contented in the other's company. I remembered reading somewhere that the true test of the health of a couple's relationship came, not in the loud and boisterous moments, but in the moments of peaceful serenity. Did one or the other party feel a compelling need to fill their every moment together with incessant chatter, or were they comfortable siting in silence together with the reassurance of each other's presence as communication enough? I had seen the former; couples who were so busy yammering away at each other that they never heard a word the other one said. I had also seen couples for whom silence was a welcome retreat, but they were anything but comforted or reassured by their partner's presence. I hoped that mine and Esme's relationship would be healthy, because I couldn't stand to imagine it otherwise.

As mid-day passed into mid-afternoon, a disconcerting rumble rose up form beside me. "Are you hungry," I asked quietly.

"Yes," she replied, "but I didn't want to say anything. I was afraid if I did all this would vanish and I would wake up in my bed and find that it was all just a dream."

"You're not dreaming Esme," I insisted as I pulled her tighter against me and kissed the top of her head. "We're almost to the place I wanted to show you … we'll stop and have our picnic there."

"Liam and Siobhan own all of this?"

"No, we left their property almost an hour ago."

"Carlisle, where are we," she panicked and wriggled free of my arm.

"Relax, sweetheart," I soothed, "we're perfectly safe. The area around Monticello is hemmed in by the Oconee National Forest; it flanks the farm property on two sides. We're just inside the boundaries of the national forest, love, it's alright." When I caught her glancing nervously into the trees beyond the road, I added, "Esme, unless he has access to an ATV or a horse, I doubt seriously that Charles is lurking in the bushes."

She looked at me apologetically before settling back into her nest at my side. "I know, love," I sighed as I wrapped my arm around her again, "It was my hope that an outing in the country would help you relax, but …"

"It has," she insisted from her nest, "I love it out here Carlisle … I could live out here."

In time, we came to a bridge over a slow flowing creek. Here I guided Shep off the road and onto a flat plane of thick soft grass. "Whoa there," I muttered to him as I pulled on the reins. The horse stopped and turned his head back to regard me with one bright blue eye. He nickered at me before lowering his head to the carpet of grass.

"Let me tie him off and then I'll help you down."

I found a lead rope stashed under the seat that I clipped to Shep's bridle before tying him to a nearby tree. Once the horse was secure I fetched the steps from the back of the cart and set them in place.

"Shep," I spoke in a gentle but firm voice to the horse. The animal lifted his head from the grass and looked at me with one eye, "You will behave yourself and stand still for the lady."

To my surprise he turned his head a bit further and eyed Esme for a moment, then made a whiffeling sound and nodded his head as if he completely understood the matter.

"Do you think we should trust him?" I asked Esme as I considered holding the horse instead of her hand while she got down.

"Of course," she replied, "you're a good boy, aren't you Shep?"

The horse nodded again and I found myself laughing. "I think Liam was right … he likes you," I told her as I offered her my hand.

"And I like him."

With Esme down on solid ground again, I fetched the picnic basket and blanket from the cart before escorting her to the overhanging bows of a stately oak. I spread the blanket for us and then helped her to sit. Together we opened the basket to see what goodies Siobhan packed for us. I had no idea what was on the menu, so I was pleased with the selection of things Esme unpacked: two large sectioned Tupperware platter, one with berries and cheese and the other with a selection of a rolled up deli meat, a whole Baggett that had been thoughtfully pre-sliced, a bowl of olives in some sort of marinade, humus topped with diced sun-dried tomatoes, and a bottle of very good wine. The basket also contained silverware for both service and eating, two fine china plates, a pair of crystal wine glasses, and, of course, a cork screw.

"Was this your doing," Esme asked as she served our plates.

"No," I answered as I fought with the wine cork, "it was Siobhan's doing. I told her I wanted to take you on a carriage ride and that a picnic might be nice." The cork came free suddenly, and I sat back for a moment to bask in my success, "She insisted on packing the picnic. I assure you, if I had done it, the fare would have been much less elegant."

"Oh, Carlisle," she giggled. When I finished pouring the wine, she took up her glass in a salute, "To Siobhan."

"To Siobhan," I agreed and then brought the glass to my lips to drink. I shouldn't have been surprised that our horse chose this moment to raise his head and nicker at us.

A megawatt smile illuminated Esme's face, "And to Shep," she add.

"Indeed."

After we had our fill of the picnic, we cleared off the blanket and spent the next couple of hours lying there watching the sky through the bare autumn branched of the oak tree. I had stretched out on my back and Esme snuggled beside me with her head pillowed on my shoulder. I would have given the world and all I owned if we could have remained like that for eternity. But the hour was growing late, and darkness fell hard in the Georgia backcountry.

"We should be going," I whispered into her hair.

"Do we have to," Esme moaned in protest, "can't we stay just a little longer."

"I don't want to leave either," I assured her, "but it's going to get dark soon, love,"

"We don't have to leave," she insisted as she rolled over on her stomach and looked me in the eye, "we could just stay out here forever; you, me, and Shep."

"Esme, that's impractical," I told her, but in all honesty I felt the same way. "Besides, taking another man's horse without permission is the definition of horse thievery, which, at one time in this country, was punished by hanging. Your neck is far too pretty for the noose my love, I cannot allow that."

She scowled at me and it broke my heart.

"We'll come back another time," I promised in an attempt to make both of us feel better, "we can make this _'our spot'_ … the special place we come to when we want the world to disappear for a little while."

"When can we come back," she asked as we packed up the picnic basket and rolled up the tartan blanket. "Next weekend," her voice was almost pleading.

"This week is Thanksgiving," I reminded her, "and it's supposed to rain on the weekend. I'm sorry Love."

"Well, what about the weekend after that."

"That's my weekend to work the ER," I felt as if I were making one excuse after another.

"Can you … you know, get the day off … swap out with someone maybe," she asked hopefully.

Of course she meant well, I knew that, but I had to nip that sort of thinking in the bud now before it got out of hand. "Esme," I dropped my voice into a serious tone as I took her hand in mine, "I take my obligations as a physician very seriously … lives depend on me, and I can't simply ditch my duties when it suits me. I took an oath, and I am bound by it." I reached up with my other hand a cupped her cheek, I didn't want her to think I was being hard on her. "Sweetheart, if you're going to be in a serious relationship with me … Dr. Carlisle Cullen … and expect that relationship to be successful … then you must understand and except this."

She nodded, "I know, I'm sorry. I just … today was like magic. I love being with you."

"Of course," I whispered as I pulled her into my arms, "I feel the same way about you, but I have a duty to my patients."

I was about to help her into the cart when a thought occurred to me; perhaps it would serve as a solution to or problem. I went every year … and suffered through the evening alone … it would be a welcome change to go this year with my beloved.

"Esme wait," I held her wrist.

"It's ok, I know you have to work," she soothed, "you don't have to apologize. I was foolish to suggest …"

"Esme," I interrupted her by speaking her name again; I didn't want to seem rude by just telling her to hush. "I was wondering if … well, are you familiar with the annual charity ball held to benefit the children's burn unit?"

"Sure, Jess is into charity fundraising," she answered, "I think she's on the planning committee for that one. She's been badgering me about going with her to the thing … why?"

"Well then, I'm afraid that Jessica is going to be very cross with me for what I'm about to do," and I didn't really care, I mused as I prepared myself to ask the all-important question. "Esme Platt, would you do me the honor of accompany me to the annual Children's Charity Gala?"

She stepped in a little closer to me and looked me in the eye, "Are you asking me to a dance, Dr. Cullen?"

The way she said _Dr. Cullen_ sent a present shiver up my spine. I put my hands on her waist and pulled her body in until we were pressed against each other. "Yes I am, Ms. Platt," I answered as my heart began to race.

"Well, doctor … I'm not sure … you know I …"

God, she was playing coy … and it was proving to be my undoing; my heart was pounding now and I could hear my blood roaring in my ears. "Damn it, woman … just say yes already," I groaned.

"Yes,"she replied finally.

That one word was like setting a match to dry kindling; suddenly I was consumed. I'd kissed Esme seriously only once before and the experience had left me hungry and wanting more; today, I would have it. As my right hand left her waist and slowly drifted up her back, I bent my head towards her. When my palm found her soft tresses and the delicate curve at back of her head, I pressed our lips together passionately. Her soft mouth merged eagerly with mine and I lost all sense of time and place; there existed only the two of us … and our love for each other. We remained entangled in this sensual interplay for several minutes before I finally, reluctantly, ended the kiss.

"If I'm going to keep my promise to Mike Newton," I sighed reluctantly, "I suppose we had best be getting back."

"I suppose," she sighed in return, "I wouldn't want him to go digging out that ax handle."

_**AN: Wow, writing that kiss was like pulling teeth! It was only a paragraph, but it took hours to get it down and get it right. I built up to it through the whole chapter and then I hit the wall when I got to it. Thankfully, Carlisle stepped in; he settled himself in my rocking chair, told me to relax, and then literally walked me through the entire scene. Every time I insisted that I just couldn't write this, he insisted that I could. **_

_**FYI: Bradford Carts are beautifully painted and heavily decorated traditional Gypsy carts … not the bow top caravans you might be thinking about … these are more like a small overdressed farm cart. How else would you show off your magnificent Gypsy Vanner than between the shafts of a hand painted Bradford Cart?**_

_**Oh and … this cart and Shep the Wonder Horse will come back later in the story, so be on the lookout.**_


	31. Chapter 31

**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator.**

**AN: a short chapter from Aro's POV ... because Blue finds him amusing to write.**

**Chapter 31**

**Aro:**

The upcoming holiday put the entire city of Atlanta into a cheery mood. My country club was no exception as it hosted its annual Thanksgiving luncheon on Tuesday. Caius informed me on Sunday evening that he and Marcus wished to meet me at the club for the event. I arrived early of course, so that I could have the advantage of selecting our seating. As I waited for my lodge brothers to arrive, I ordered a brandy. Ordinarily I did not imbibe in strong drink at lunch, a glass of wine with my meal perhaps, but never anything stronger. This was a professional consideration more than anything else. While I preferred to conduct my scheduled surgeries in the morning, one never knew when an emergency might crop up … and nothing could ruin a doctor's professional reputation faster than showing up to surgery intoxicated.

To pass the time, I pulled the report I ask Felix to compile from my briefcase. After hearing Esme's story and seeing the box full of evidence Jessica brought to Eleazar's office, I took the liberty of contacting my privet investigator. The evidence provided by Esme left the story cold with the deposed ex-husband still living in Ohio as she moved on with her new life. Charles was unquestionably a bad man, but I needed to know just how bad, and in order to determine that, I had to know about his more recent activities.

I had Felix dig up everything he could get his hands on going back to the weeks after the divorce became final. Esme said that his business floundered even while they were married and that, in spite of this, he wished her to give up her job. On closer inspection of the court documents from her divorce, it was evident that it was Esme's income that kept the family and Charles' business above the tide of red ink. This did not make sense to me; forcing Esme, the sole provider of a steady income, to quit work seemed like sheer insanity. Was it simply his overly inflated male ego that blinded him to the truth, or did he have some ulterior motive? The answer to that question remained to be seen.

Six months after the divorce became final; the business left to Charles by his father went in to bankruptcy and closed its door forever. With no business and no source of income, Charles moved back home to live with his widowed mother, embarking on a protracted period of unemployment in the process. He began to drink more heavily than usual, as evidenced by the number of arrests for public drunkenness and drunk and disorderly conduct. When his mother died, she left him her home and a small inheritance and things seemed to get better; he held several part time jobs over the course of the following two years. But, as is so often the case, rot starts at the core of an apple and you only discover it once you take a bite. He was fired from each of his jobs for reasons ranging from showing up at his job intoxicated to being openly belligerent with costumers. He soon developed a less than desirable reputation and the job opportunities dried up. In the three years following his mother's death, he blew through his inheritance and was on the verge of losing the house.

And that is where things turned very dark in the story of Charles Everson. Five years after their divorce, even as Esme was building her new life here in Atlanta, her ex-husband was arrested in Columbus on his first felony drug charge; possession of cocaine. According to the report Felix prepared, things spiraled downward from there; possession soon escalated into trafficking. He had other arrests to his name as well; for breaking and entering and robbery. An assault charge caught my attention … assault on a police officer no less. I found myself shaking my head in disgust, what could a woman of Esme's obvious intelligence possibly have seen in this man.

Currently, Charles was out of jail on parole and I wondered if his parole officer was aware that he was in Atlanta stalking his ex-wife. The parole officer's name and contact information was included in the report; perhaps later, I would give him a call.

"Aro," I heard Caius calling my name and looked up to find him and Marcus walking towards my table.

I stood to greet them, "Gentlemen." We engaged in the customary greetings of the old country before taking our seats.

"Homework, Aro," Marcus pointed to the spread of papers before me. The sea of reports did remind me of my university days and the endless hours of study that laid the foundation of my current success.

"In a manner of speaking," I answered as collected the scattered papers into a neat pile.

"You're drinking," Caius observed as he noticed the half-finished snifter of brandy, "at this hour. That's unlike you."

"I have had half a glass of brandy, Caius," I snapped back, "I am still more than sober enough to perform a triple by-pass without batting an eye."

"Perhaps," Caius continued to eye me with suspicion, "but ordinarily you don't have anything stronger than a glass of wine in the middle of the day."

"Out with it Aro," Marcus grumped, "what's going on."

I should have known better, it was impossible to keep anything from my lodge brothers. Though I enjoyed teasing them, Caius for being the brash hothead and Marcus for being a slow old turtle, at the end of the day, they were men of considerable intellect and I knew this. No matter what cutting remarks I might make about them, I still held Marcus and Caius in very high regard and respected their insight and opinions. They were my lodge brothers, but if truth be told, they were as close to me as brothers born of flesh and blood.

The question that faced me at the moment however was; did I wish to take them in to my confidence on the matter of Charles Everson. I shared secrets with them about myself that I had not shared with my beloved Sulpicia. Caius and Marcus knew as much about my past life as I cared to share with anyone other than God and my parish priest. Not only did they know the secrets of my past, but they kept what I told them completely confidential; they would take that knowledge to their graves without telling a soul. Perhaps I could benefit from their council.

"Very well," I sighed, "do you remember the enchanting Ms. Esme Platt?"

"You mean my patient," Marcus reminded me, "the one with the broken ankle."

"Never mind the broken ankle," Caius cut in, "She's the one that Aro insists will reignite the fire in Carlisle's soul." He paused and grinned broadly at me, "How's that going by the way?"

"You tell me, Caius. He works for you … you see him every day. What have you observed?"

"He appears to be a new man these days," Caius insisted, "A smile on his face, a spring in his step … the other day, he was whistling. I am afraid that I might just lose our little wager."

I had not forgotten about or bet, but winning it no longer motivated me. I wanted Carlisle and Esme together forever … and given how well things between them were progressing, in my mind this was all but a certainty now. I would win the wage, there was no doubt about this, but the prospect of taking a few thousand dollars from Caius … the victory just seemed hollow somehow.

"Not if this man has anything to say about it," I sighed as I handed them a copy of Charles' mug shot.

"Who is this Aro," Marcus asked, pointing at the grainy photo.

"Charles Alexander Everson," I replied, "Esme's ex-husband."

That was a startling revelation for them I mused, as I watched their expressions shift from passive interest to confused engagement.

"Esme was married before," Marcus exclaimed. I was shocked by the intensity of his voice. In the many years that I'd known him, he never raised it above a dull mumble.

"Does Carlisle know," Caius asked next.

While he might come off as aloof to those who didn't know him well, deep down Caius Falcon cared intensely about many things. Carlisle had once confided to me that he though Caius disliked him … his exact words to me were, "that man despises the very air I breathe." This was not true, of course; Caius liked Carlisle and even felt somewhat protective of him. I could see the distress in his eyes at the thought of Carlisle possibly being duped.

"Yes, and yes," I answered both questions.

"Well, if Carlisle hasn't got an issue with seeing a divorcee," Marcus muttered, "what's this Charles person got to do with anything?"

I didn't answer, but instead handed them copies of the photos from Esme's mail box. The disturbing photographs and accompanying note had a predictable impact on them.

"Oh my," Caius gasped.

"Has she informed the police?" Marcus inquired.

Once again, instead of a verbal response I chose to present physical evidence; I handed them a copy of Esme's police report.

"May I safely assume that a restraining order will be issued," Marcus inquired as he pushed aside the disturbing police report.

"Eleazar and an eager young lawyer from the District Attorney's office are working on that as we speak," I soothed.

"Then the matter should be well in hand," Caius dismissed.

Thinking that everything was being handled appropriately seemed to set Caius at ease once again. He motioned the waiter to our table so as to place his lunch order. As much as I might have wished to indulge his delusion of everything being right and well, I could not.

"One would think …" I allowed my answer to trail off as I handed them a copy of Felix's report along with Charles' police record, "and one would be wrong."

"This man is a convicted felon, Aro," Caius blurted after examining the police record. Then he lowered his voice, "what was Esme doing with him."

"He was not a felon when they met, Caius" I defended her staunchly. "He did not become a monster and a criminal until later."

Marcus continued reading Felix's prepared report; as always he tended to adjudicate more slowly than Caius. "I not convinced that a restraining order is going to be enough."

"Neither am I," the words escaped me in a tired sigh. "I have a couple of Felix's associates watching Carlisle and Esme to ensure their safety while Felix tries to locate Charles. My security team is working on upgrading Esme's home security system as we speak … they should be done by Monday I'm told." I pushed aside the bulk of the paper work as our food arrived. "I'm doing everything that I can think of to protect them, short of stationing a 24hr a day armed guard in each of their homes."

"Does Esme know that she's being watched?" It was Caius; for an intelligent man, sometimes he could be such an idiot.

"What do you think?" I grumped in frustration as I picked up my fork. "Of course she does not know. I just barely managed to get her to agree to the home security upgrades."

"Aro," the way Marcus said my name sent a cold chill up my spine. This only happened when he was about to say something prophetic … or something that I would not like hearing. "I hate to bring this up, but have you considered … placing a call to your former associates in Chicago."

He said something that I would not like hearing; I should have known. When I walked away from my old life in Chicago, I meant it to be a permanent break; I managed to get myself and my family out of that situation with our lives intact … and I had been lucky to do so. For my own safety, I maintained a few old contacts just to keep informed about my 'former associates' and their activities.

"Doesn't the …uhm …" Caius paused, leaned in, and whispered, "_doesn't_ _that big guy in Chicago still owe you_. _After all, you did preform a very complicated operation on his grandson last summer."_

"Yes, I have considered making a call or two to my old associates in Chicago," I addressed Marcus first, "and yes, Caius, that _'Big Guy'_, as you call him, was very pleased that I was able to repair the defect in his grandson's heart valve. But you have to understand something," I paused and took a deep breath, "These are very dangerous individuals. They're not the kind of people that you make deals with lightly … it is like making a deal with Satan himself. Right now, they owe me, and that fact keeps my family safe … if I make a phone call and ask a favor, even for Esme and Carlisle, that tips the balance, and I owe them."

"So you will do nothing, Aro," Marcus sounded very disappointed, "you will simply let Carlisle and Esme come to harm."

"Absolutely not," I growled in response. "I intend to do everything that I can to locate and neutralize this threat to them … and in the end, if I find that it is unavoidable … then will I make that phone call."

"We want to help," Caius insisted.

"Yes," Marcus joined Caius in his determination to assist me, "what can we do?"

_**AN: Sorry it was so short! I'm not sure how ... or even if, this chapter advances my story line. I wrote it mostly because Blue needed a break from the heavy material of the last few chapters. **_

_** Oh and FYI, for those of you who are wondering … yes, Aro's 'former associates in Chicago' are with the mafia; he was a mob doctor. In fact, that's the chief reason that Carlisle refused to join Aro's cardiology practice in Chicago when he finished his residency program … that and the fact the he loves emergency medicine.**_


	32. Chapter 32

**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator.**

**Chapter 32**

**Esme:**

Ordinarily, very few new projects came across our desks this time of the year, but my life lately had been anything but ordinary. The Georgia Historical Society in collaboration with the Clayton County Office of Tourism and Development approached Newton Architectural Solutions LLC with a rather impressive undertaking; they wished to fully restore the Old Rex Mill. When Mike called me into his office out of the blue around noon I was surprised. When I walked out of his office two hours later as the lead architect on the Old Rex Mill Restoration Project I was stunned … and honored.

"There's only one person in this firm that's right for this project," Mike gushed with pride to our new clients, "Ms. Esme Platt."

Now that the headiness of it all was wearing off, I was getting down to the brass tacks of tackling such a massive undertaking. The grist mill, built in the late1830's by Isaiah Hollingsworth, had been in operation through the 1940's but had stood unused for decades. Unfortunately, decades of disuse usually meant decades of disrepair, and that was usually indicative of an extensive and costly renovation. One the bright side however, the distinguished folks interested in the project were motivated by not only a sense of nostalgia, but by the fact that Rex Village, the Old Rex Mill, and the surrounding mill structures sitting on the Big Cotton Indian Creek drew Hollywood producers looking for picturesque locations for filming. It also helped that Rex had connections to the First Lady of a sitting US President. Our new clients didn't wish to lose this important historical and economic treasure by allowing the structure to fall into a further state of disrepair.

I was just going over a very depressing engineering report regarding the mill's overall structural soundness when the phone rang. The caller ID read Aro Veracini and I smiled; perhaps he was calling to tell me that _'his man'_ finished the security upgrades to my home ahead of schedule. It would be nice to move back in before Thanksgiving.

"Hi Aro," I answered the phone cheerfully, "what's up."

"Hello _mia cara_," he greeted me in return, "how has your day been."

"Great, I have a new project," I couldn't help telling him. I was bursting at the seams to tell someone and Aro was the first unfortunate soul to cross my path. "I'm the lead architect on the Old Rex Mill Restoration Project … isn't that awesome!"

"Congratulations," he purred politely. "I do not know anything about this Old Rex Mill, but if you are the lead on the project then I am sure it will be an enormous success. I am very happy for you."

"I'm sorry, I'm just …"

"You are happy, Esme," he interrupted, "this is not something to be sorry for. Have you told Carlisle?"

"No, I haven't spoken to him since I got the project," I admitted sadly. "I'll call him and tell him about it later. Uhm, Aro …" I was about to shamelessly change the subject, "how are the security upgrades going? Any chance I can move back into Fort Platt before Thursday?"

I heard him laugh on the other end of the phone. "Ah, my dear Esme … I wish I could tell you yes, but I am afraid it will be Monday. I am so sorry to disappoint you."

I was disappointed, but I didn't want Aro feeling badly about it. "That's ok," I dismissed, "I was just hoping … well … it would have been nice, that's all."

"Mia cara," he sighed sadly, "I wish there were some way that I could make all this easier for you. Your life has been turned upside down these past few days … it is not fair to you … or to your daughters."

"No worries Aro," I dismissed. I hated it that he felt bad for me. "Things are always darkest before the dawn … right? It's just a rough patch, I've had them before."

"You are very brave, Esme," he insisted.

We were silent for a moment and I felt a bit awkward. My house wasn't ready, so why had Aro called me at the office at this hour of the afternoon; not that I minded, of course, I actually enjoyed talking to him.

"So … the house isn't ready, and … you were checking up on me?"

"You are wondering why I called," he chuckled.

"Well, it's not that I mind," I back-peddled a bit. The thought of offending Aro after all his kindness troubled me. "I like talking to you."

He was laughing now and I relaxed; he wasn't offended.

"The feeling is mutual," he replied when he stopped laughing. After a pregnant pause, he got down to the business of his call. "I was wondering, what are you and your girls doing for Thanksgiving?"

Thanksgiving, the word tumbled through my mind. The holiday evoked images lifted straight from the canvases of Norman Rockwell; Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, all the kids, and Aunts, Uncles and cousins by the dozens all gathered with smiling faces around the dinner table. My Thanksgivings hadn't been like that since I was a child back on the farm. When I was married, the holiday represented just another excuse for Charles to drink while at the same time having me within easy reach of his rages. My first year in Atlanta, we didn't even celebrate … I took the girls to the mall and a movie instead. When Jessica found out, she gave me a good ear chewing. Every year after that, the girls and I spent Thanksgiving, and Christmas too, in the Newton home.

"We usually spend Thanksgiving with Mike and Jess," I told him. "This year, we won't even need to drive over."

"It is a tradition then?" He seemed more than a little disappointed.

"Kind of," I answered, "why?"

"Well, I was going to invite you and your lovely daughters to spend Thanksgiving with my family." I could hear the continued disappointment in his voice and it broke my heart. Aro was such a kind generous man, and he only wanted to make life more bearable for us at the holidays.

"Carlisle and his sons will be there," he added hopefully.

Now I really did felt badly. On the one hand, the girls and I traditionally spent the holiday with Mike and Jess. I helped Jess with the cooking while Mike, Leah, Seth, and the girls went Christmas tree shopping. After dinner, while the big game played on the jumbo flat screen in the den, we all gathered around and trimmed the tree. But on the other hand, the opportunity to spend a holiday with Carlisle … well, the idea of that set all the butterflies in my stomach into frenzied flight.

"I want to be there Aro." God knows that I do, I thought as I closed my eyes in order to hold back the tears, "But I don't want to upset Mike and Jess."

"I can hear the anguish in your voice, _mia cara_," he sighed painfully. "I am sorry to have put you in such a predicament … but perhaps it can be worked out amicably for everyone."

"I don't see how."

"Let me handle it," he soothed. "I will keep you posted on my progress. In the meantime, I congratulate you once again, on your new project."

With that we said our goodbyes and the conversation ended.

_**0o0o0o0o0o**_

I shut down my computer and gathered up the documents pertaining to the Old Rex Mill; I would have ample homework to keep me busy tonight. The offices were closed tomorrow and Thursday for the holiday and, while our doors would open again on Friday, most of our employees who could swing it had already taken the day off. With the reports and my laptop packed up, I was hoping to get a little work done tomorrow. First, of course, I would help Jess with the cooking; we had eight hungry mouths to feed after all.

Earlier in the afternoon, after I got off the phone with Aro, I took a chance on calling Carlisle at work. He wasn't terribly busy and we engaged in a brief chat. He was excited about my new project, and I promised him that I would show him the property before the hammers and shovels showed up. That amazed me; in spite of the fact that Carlisle didn't know a whole lot about architecture, he show enthusiasm about the things that interested me. Charles never did that, and I wondered now what I ever saw in my ex-husband in the first place.

"Are you ready Esme?" Mike called to me as he locked his office door.

"All packed up and ready to go Captain," I joked. We both grew up watching Star Trek: The Next Generation and we were huge fans of the series. As a girl, I had the biggest crush on Data, the android; only Jessica knew about it though.

"Very good Number One," Mike replied in his best imitation of Jean-Luc Picard. "Helmsman, lay in a course for home," he said with a grin as I entered the elevator

"The course is laid in Captain," I giggled as the doors slid shut.

"Engage," he commanded and I pushed the button for the parking level.

We were laughing hysterically when the elevator doors opened again. It felt so good to laugh, but now the dark, nearly empty, tomb of the parking garage yawned before us. I looked around nervously at the all the deep shadows where someone could be hiding.

"Don't worry Esme," Mike insisted in a low voice. I watched as he reached around behind his back … when his hand returned to view he was holding a 9mm handgun.

"Mike, really!" I groaned.

"It's perfectly legal," he insisted as we began crossing the garage towards his truck, "I have a license for the gun and a permit to carry it. If Charles wants to start something, then I certainly intend to be prepared to finish it."

"Welcome to the wild wild west," I grumbled as he opened the passenger's side door.

I was about to put my good foot on the step rail and clime up into the cab when a strange odor accosted my nose. "Do you smell that?"

"Yeah, it smells like …" he paused to sniff the air again, "it smells like … garbage."

"No, it's not garbage …" I took another whiff of the foul stench. "I've smelled that before, back on the farm." I moved to the side of Mike's truck, stood as tall as I could, and peered over into the bed. "Oh God …" I muttered at the sight and nearly vomited, "that's foul."

"Aw, freakin' hell," Mike cursed as he looked too. "When I get my hands on that bastard …."

"I think we should call the cops."

"We'll have to go back to the office," Mike insisted as he covered his nose against the smell. "There's no cell reception down here."

I nodded, but then thought of something, "wait, do you still keep that disposable camera in your glove compartment?"

He nodded, "good thinking Esme. We'll snap a few pictures first, just in case."

Mike took a dozen pictures from various angels before we headed back to the elevator. The gun came out again and he aimed the weapon at the elevator doors as they slid open; I was so afraid that he might accidently shoot one of the cleaning ladies. Thankfully elevator car was empty.

"Esme, I have a question to ask you," When I nodded, he continued, "Was … was … was it …wearing makeup," he stammered.

"Yes," I answered with a shutter, "lipstick, rouge, eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara … the whole nine yards."

"And, how did you know that the smell wasn't garbage … you said you smell it on the farm, but …"

"We raised our own Mike," I answered weekly as we got off the elevator. He went straight to Abigail's reception desk and used her phone to call the police. When he hung up I continued my explanation, "every fall, my dad and grandpa would slaughter a couple of hogs to put in the freezer for winter. Once you get that smell … dead hog and rancid hog blood in your nose, you never forget it."

"Then the puddle in the bed liner is …"

"Hog blood," I nodded, "or at least I hope it is. We're talking about Charles you know."

"Don't take this the wrong way, honey," Mike sighed as he ran a nervous hand through his hair, "but, your ex-husband is a real piece of work. What kind of nut job leaves a severed hog's head, wearing makeup, and laying in a pool of its own blood in the back of someone's truck?"

"That's why he's my _ex-husband_."

_**AN: the old Rex Mill is a real place, not far from where I live. It's on the National Registry of Historical Places and if you google it, you can find pictures. It was featured as a filming location in a recent Disney movie, but I don't know which one.**_

_** Historical information curtesy of: claytonoralhistory dot com and gadoodles dot com images/History/RexMill**_

_**Enjoy your weekend!**_


	33. Chapter 33

_**NOTE:**_** I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator.**

**Chapter 33**

**Esme:**

I woke up Wednesday morning feeling just as tired as I had when I went to bed the previous evening. Mike and I got home much later than I would have liked. When the police arrived at the office, it took them almost three hours to process and clear the crime scene. We were both afraid that the detective assigned to my case would want to impound Mike's truck as evidence. When we voiced this concern and asked how we were supposed to get home, the detective laughed and told us that we watched too much Law & Order. They took lots of pictures, bagged the pig head, and took some samples of the now congealed blood pooled in the bed liner. The crime scene unit tried dusting for prints, but the detective wasn't hopeful about finding anything useful. They did manage to find a trail of blood drops leading away from the truck. The officers followed it to a parking spot about four spaces away from where Mike's truck was parked; here they also found a bloody boot print.

After Mike and I gave our statements to police, we were free to go. We stopped on the way home at a do-it-yourself carwash and used the high powered hose to clean out the bed of his truck. I was exhausted by the time we got home. It was nearly 11:30 pm by the time I retired upstairs to the guest room I'd occupied for the past few days. It was late, way too late, and I knew it, but I just had to call Carlisle. I woke him, I could tell by the husky disoriented sound in his voice, but to his credit he wasn't anger. He listened patiently to me as I told him everything and, when I finished, he offered me soothing words of comfort. I would have given anything at the moment to have him hold me; to melt into the folds of his strong reassuring arms.

"Call me tomorrow," he told me before we ended our conversation for the night, "anytime between noon and one-thirty. I should be at lunch, but if you fail to reach me, I promise I'll call you back as soon as I can."

"I'm sorry I woke you," I apologized. I wasn't a fool; I knew he had to be at the hospital very early.

"I'm not," he insisted. "Try and get some rest now, you've had a very harrowing afternoon."

We said goodnight to each other after that and I hung up. Just the sound of his voice made me fell somewhat better. In spite of this however, I didn't slept well; I tossed and turned most of the night, and when I did finally manage sleep, I had nightmares about Charles.

I glanced over at the clock on the nightstand; the glowing red numbers said 8:37 am. I sighed and got up. After a shower, I dressed and crawled down stairs to help Jess with breakfast and to help myself to a steaming mug of coffee. Caffeine would be my best friend today; I was supposed to assist Jess with the last minute holiday shopping and then begin the cooking for tomorrow.

"Good morning sunshine!" Jess greeted me enthusiastically. I glared back at her. "Ooh ... ouch ... not such a good morning."

"No, not really," I replied as I poured a cup of coffee.

"You're a hot mess, honey," she observed as she passed me the creamer from the fridge, "did you get any sleep at all?"

"Not much," I answered as I stirred my cup. The first welcomed sip of coffee slid down my throat and I moaned with pleasure.

"Sit down and finish that," she instructed me before going back to the skillet of biscuit gravy she was tenderly petting on the stove. "I got breakfast this morning … and if you need more of that battery acid you're enjoying, just say so … I can keep a pot on all day."

"I may take you up on that."

After breakfast, the girls diapered with Mike, Seth, and Leah to Home Depot. The Newton home was in need of new exterior Christmas lights this year. Mike also hinted at acquiring some new lawn decorations. Jess warned him not to go overboard; at the first of November, the neighborhood's Homeowner's Association sent around a flyer regarding 'appropriate Holiday decorations'. I knew Mike; he thought Homeowner's Associations were paramount to institutionalized Communism. Somehow he would find a way to tastefully thumb his nose in their collective faces. I couldn't wait to see him do it.

"Go get ready, honey," Jess shooshed me up the stairs, "we have a lot of shopping to do."

Obediently, I trudged up the stairs to change clothes. When I came back down again, I was surprised to find Jess pleading with someone at the front door.

"But it's the Holiday … I have a feast to cook."

"I'm sorry ma'am," a young sounding male voice replied, "This is a matter of public safety."

"Jess," I called her name as I walked up behind her. I could now see the twenty something year old at the door, he was wearing an Atlanta Gas Light uniform. "What's wrong?"

"They're shutting off my gas." She informed me angrily.

"Didn't you pay the bill?" It was a stupid question; Jess always paid the bill … on time and sometimes even early.

"Of course I paid," she grumbled, "this gentleman says there's a leak at the meter."

"There's a leak?" I asked as I turned to the gas company man.

"Yes ma'am," he replied, hoping that I might be reasoned with since he was having no luck with Jessica. "We detected a leak around the gas meter. We have to shut off the gas until we can replace the meter."

"And how soon can you replace it?"

"Well, ordinarily we would have a truck out here tomorrow, but," he paused and looked suspiciously at Jess, "it's a holiday and we're running a skeleton crew; emergencies only."

"This is an emergency … it's the very definition of an emergency!" Jessica shouted at the poor youth. _"You're_ going to have Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, _aren't you_?" she asked him in a dangerous tone. He nodded apprehensively and Jess let into him again, "Well we're NOT … thanks to YOU shutting off our gas!"

"I'm … I'm sorry," he stammered apologetically as he looked to me for help, "I'm just doing my job."

"Doing your JOB!" Jessica exploded.

"Jessica," I spoke her name firmly as I took her by the arm. "Yelling at …" I glanced over at the young man's name tag before continuing, "yelling at Robert, isn't helping. He really is just doing his job. Let me make some phone calls … I do have a few professional contact over at Atlanta Gas Light, maybe we can get this worked out." I turned and nodded a dismissal to Robert who beat a thankful and hasty retreat.

Two hours later, when Mike and company returned from their outing, I was no closer to resolving the gas issue. I often had to deal with the gas company on renovation projects, and I had a reliable contact in Benjamin Warren. Ben told me, essentially the same thing as Robert had; a skeleton crew was on call for the holiday.

"The earliest I can have a truck out there is Monday, eight sharp." He told me sadly.

"You know, that really doesn't help with getting a meal for nine people cooked for tomorrow," I replied dryly.

"Sorry Esme," he sighed, "I wish I could be more help."

As the troop piled into the living room with all manner of outdoor Christmas décor the house was chilly in more ways than one.

"Hey mom," Seth called out as he pulled off his sweater and, just as quickly, pulled it back on again. "Turn up the heat … it's freezing in here."

"Deal with it," Jessica grumped, "it's going to get a lot colder."

"Honey, what's wrong?" Mike knew his wife all too well; she rarely spoke to her kids like that.

"They turned off the gas Mike," I answered for her, "I spent the last couple of hours playing phone tag with Ben trying to get this straightened out, but…"

"Why did they turn it off," he interrupted.

"The man from Atlanta Gas Light said we had a leak at the meter," Jess answered.

"They can't get a truck out here to replace the meter until Monday," I added.

"Super," Mike groaned.

"What about Thanksgiving?" Jess insisted, she was nearly in tears.

"I've got a better question Aunt Jess," Alice spoke quietly, "What are we going to do about tonight. There's a cold front moving through and the weatherman is predicting snow tomorrow … three to five inches possible above the I-20 corridor; that's us."

"Yeah right," Seth sneered, "it never snows like that when the weatherman says it will. Don't count on it."

"It may not snow," Mike observed, "but it is going to get cold; the temperature is already dropping like a rock out there. We have plenty of wood; I'll stoke the fireplace and we can all sleep in the living room tonight. It'll be like camping."

**Aro:**

I looked nervously at the clock on my office mantel; it read 2:45 pm. The employee from the gas company should have already paid the Newton home a visit by now. With the holiday tomorrow, there was no way that the_ 'leaky meter'_ could be fixed and the gas service restored before Thanksgiving. So why had neither Jessica nor Esme called me as yet. Admittedly it wasn't one of my most well-conceived plans; I contrived it on short notice and there were lots of variables that could lead to unpredictable outcomes. The house still had electrical service; they could choose to cook in electric pots. Atlanta offered a plethora of culinary opportunities and both Esme and her friends had the financial resources to enjoy them; they could choose to go out for Thanksgiving dinner.

'I'll handle it,' I told Esme over the phone. That was by no means a shuttle hint, it was an assurance … surly she must know that I had my hand in the supposed gas leak. 'No, she does NOT,' I chided myself,' we are not talking about Carlisle here.' Esme is an innocent, she has no idea how I operate. She is totally unaware of my spider's web of connections or the depth to which my tendrils of influence go.

I picked up my phone and fought back the urge to call her; that would be too suspicious.

"Hey dad," Alec's voice called from my office door. "Can you come help me get the sled down from the attic?"

"The sled," I repeated, "there has not been enough snow to use the sled since we left Chicago."

"Maybe not, but I want to be prepared," he answered happily, "it's gonna snow tomorrow."

"Snow tomorrow," I muttered as I pulled up the weather channel on my computer. Sure enough, the forecast showed snow for tomorrow as well as dangerously cold temperatures overnight tonight and through the next seventy two hours. Atlanta was about to take a beating from a southern blizzard. "Mio Dio, what have I done?"

"Go and tell your mother to prepare all the guest rooms … you and Jane help her," I instructed him. "Then get the sleeping bags out of the garage and put them in the game room."

"Who's coming over dad?"

I looked at him and sighed sadly, "Your father has done something careless and now he must fix it. Go, there is much work to do."

I picked up my phone again, but before I could dial out, it rang; Jessica's number was on the ID screen. Thank God!

"Hello," I answered calmly.

"Hey Aro," It was Esme and I breathed a mental sigh of relief. "Are you busy?"

"_Mia cara,_ I am never too busy for you. I am at your service, what can I do for you?" Please ask Esme, I prayed. God, I pleaded as I shut my eyes briefly, please move her to ask me, because I cannot ask her … no matter how much I burn inside to do so.

"Well, do you remember our conversation yesterday," she began hesitantly.

"Of course, what about it?"

"Is your invitation still open," she continued shyly, "and … would you mind if I brought friends?"

"Absolutely, my invitation is still open," I purred, "and you may bring as many friends as you like. May I ask whom we are expecting … besides you and your girls, that is." I already knew the answer, but for appearances sake, I had to ask.

"Well, Mike and Jessica and their two kids."

"That is perfect … of, course they may come," I cooed. Now for the hard part; I had to entice her into telling me about the gas being turned off so that I could invite them to stay the night here. "May I ask, what changed your mind?"

She was silent for a moment and I wondered if perhaps she had figured it out. When she finally spoke, however, I knew that she had not.

"There's a gas leak at Mike's house," she admitted; she sounded so disappointed. "The gas company cut off service until they can fix it. That won't happen until Monday."

"Oh, how unfortunate," I cooed sympathetically. "But tell me something,_ cara_ … and please do not think that I am prying, but with no gas service, does the house still have heat?"

After a moment she replied, "No, Mike's got the fireplace going. We're all huddled in the livingroom."

I sighed heavily, "Would you put Mr. Newton on the phone please?"

"Aro," she sounded panicked at my request. I needed to settle her.

"Calm down Esme, all is well," I soothed. "Please put Mr. Newton on the phone."

A few seconds later Mike Newton's voice filled my ear, "You wanted to speak to me Dr. Veracini?"

"Yes. Esme tells me that your gas service is off, and that … with the exception of a fireplace … you have no heat." I paused to allow my summery of the situation to sink in, "Is this correct?"

"Well," he sighed, "we do have the fireplace."

"Are you aware of the forecast for tonight?" I asked.

"Yeah, cold," he grunted, "why?"

"Not just cold Mr. Newton … dangerously cold … it will drop down to eight degrees on the Fahrenheit scale tonight. That is cold enough to kill Mr. Newton, did you know that."

"Well, we uhm … we uhm … we have the fireplace, lots of wood, and plenty of blankets …"

If it were only Esme that I had to deal with, she and her children would be packing their bag this very second. Unfortunately, I had to convince Mike Newton that the best way for him to take care of his family would be to allow me … another male and more or less a stranger … to help him. I had my work cut out for me.

"Eight degrees Fahrenheit, Mr. Newton," I repeated, "that is minus thirteen degrees Celsius. I am not an architect; therefore I do not understand structures and heat flow in buildings. I did, however, grow up in the old country … on a farm. We had a fireplace too, and when it got down this cold … and even colder sometimes … the fireplace was only warm if you chose to crawl up into it and sleep on the burning logs."

"What are you suggesting doctor?" He sighed.

"I have ample space in my house," I replied as I tried to strike a balance between outright insistence and offhanded suggestion. "Your family is more than welcome to stay with us. My wife and I would be delighted to have you."

It took a few more tense moments of haggling between us, but I managed to convince him. Mike Newton, his wife, and their two children along with Esme and her girls would be spending the next few nights as guests in my home. And to top it all off, Esme and Carlisle would have their first Thanksgiving together … at my table. Outstanding!

_**AN: Pride goeth before destruction and an haughty spirit before a fall. Proverbs 16:18**_

_**Oh boy, Aro really screwed that up! Esme and the girls almost had to spend the night in a freezing house because our favorite Golden Godfather didn't think his plan through. The real kicker is, he isn't at all sorry about it … in his mind; he made a mistake, he fixed it, and things still worked out his way. **_

_**FYI: I'm taking a trip tomorrow … traveling back home to Atlanta by bus. If it doesn't take too much out of me, you might see another post late Thursday or… more likely … sometime on Friday.**_


	34. Chapter 34

**NOTE:**** I do not own or have rights to twilight or its characters, the material in the intellectual property of its creator.**

**AN: Not quite Thanksgiving yet … sorry. The cast and I needed another chapter to get all the little ducks in a row. Enjoy! And thanks for your well wishes for my trip.**

**Chapter 34**

**Aro:**

My guests arrived at a little past six in the evening. Not only had my wife and children prepared the three guest bed rooms and the game room to accommodate everyone, but they worked feverishly in the kitchen to cook a hot meal for the crowd. Thankfully, Sulpicia's parents owned a small bistro back in Volterra and she was used to cooking in volume. She spent summers and weekends waiting tables and working with her mother in the restaurant kitchen; this is where we met. As I greeted Mr. and Mrs. Newton, their children, and Esme and her brood I felt, for a brief moment, like the manager of a hotel welcoming weary travelers to an evening's repose.

"Thank you again for your hospitality, Dr. Veracini," Mike insisted as he shook my hand. "You know, we could have just gone to the Marriott."

"Nonsense," I dismissed, "You are like family to me, and I have more than enough space. Besides tomorrow is Thanksgiving … with the sleet predicted to start in the morning hours and then change over to snow around noon, the roads will become treacherous very quickly. It would be too dangerous for you to drive over and you would end up eating whatever room service could provide. And if you do not mind … I would be honored if you dropped the Dr. Veracini and just call me Aro."

I showed my adult guests up stairs while Alec helped the girls and Seth carry their things to the game room. I gave the largest of the guest rooms to Mike and Jessica; it had a king sized bed and its own on suite bathroom. This was essentially the _'best room in the house'_ and, while I would have liked to give it to Esme, the Newton's were a married couple and it only made sense to afford them their privacy.

After leaving Mike and Jessica to settle in, I escorted Esme further down the hall to the next guest room.

"This will be yours," I told her opening the door. "There is no private bath, I'm afraid, but there are ample facilities just across the hall," I indicated the door behind which the bathroom could be found.

"Thank you Aro, this is very kind of you."

"As I said earlier, you are family Esme. This is the least I can do." I paused and then added, "When you and the Newton's have freshened up, Sulpicia has supper for all of you. It is not fancy; a homemade soup, toasted garlic bread, salad, iced tea, and of course wine from her family's vineyard in Italy."

"That sounds amazing," she sighed, "we'll be down shortly."

The table was a warm yet boisterous place with so many young people gathered around it. The teenagers were respectfully quiet while I said the blessing, after this however the youthful chatter began. I was thankful that I decided to seat all the adults at one end of the table and the young ones at the other. With this arrangement Sulpicia and I could engage Esme and the Newton's in pleasant conversation without having to shout.

"This wine is amazing Aro," Mike observed after taking a sip, "where do you get it?"

"We purchase it at _Angela's Kitchen Creations_," I told him, "but the wine itself comes from a vineyard owned by my wife's family back in Volterra."

"I thought you said, Sulpicia's family owned a restaurant," Esme interjected, "By the way, this is the best soup that I've ever had … thank you."

"_Grazie_," my wife thanked her with a nod and a smile. Sulpicia's mastery of the English language was not on par with mine; in spite of having her citizenship and years of living in the US, she still preferred to convers in Italian.

"Her parents own the restaurant and her brother, Constantine, now runs it," I corrected. "The vineyard belonged to her grandfather … her father's father. It was passed to her grandfather's eldest son, Sulpicia's Uncle. Today, her Uncle's two sons own and operate the vineyard and the modern winery attached to it."

"So why do you have to buy the wine," Jessica asked innocently, "why not just have a cases or two shipped over every so often."

"A business runs on profit, Jessica, surly you must know this," I chided her gently, "By purchasing the wine, I provide a profit to keep the winery in business … by purchasing the wine from Angela Webber's store instead of importing it directly, the money I spend helps to keep two businesses in operation."

After dinner, Esme and Jessica attempted to insist on helping my wife with cleaning up. Jane was already in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. As I expected, Sulpicia shooed the women from her domain; she still considered them guests and therefore, by her standards, it was rude to have their help. I would have to speak to her about this later; tomorrow there would be a multitude at her table and she would require the extra help. I left the dining room and made my way to the den to build a cheery fire in the hearth; not for warmth so much as for ambiance.

"Aro," I heard Esme's lovely voice calling my name.

I looked up from crumpling newspapers to smile at her, "_Mia cara_, come in," I invited her warmly, "I was just about to make a fire."

She crossed the room and took a seat on the hearth skirt. Esme was not herself this evening; I noticed that something about her demeanor was off the moment she stepped across my threshold. Unfortunately, with so many guests, I had not found the time or the privacy to investigate.

"Have you talked to Carlisle today?" she asked me quietly. She was playing with the hem of her blouse, a sure sign that she was nervous about something.

"No, I have not," I replied as I arranged the crumpled paper in the grate. "Why?" Hopefully, if I maintained a casual air, she would open up to me.

"I was supposed to call him today … around twelve or one," she admitted, "but with everything that happened … I forgot. Do you think he'll be angry?"

"Angry … no," I dismissed her fear gently, "concerned perhaps, but not angry."

Was that it, I wondered, she feared Carlisle would be angry because she neglected to call?

"I guess you're right," she sighed, "he would be more concerned that anything else … especially after yesterday afternoon."

Ah, now we were getting somewhere; whatever happened the previous afternoon had her in a state. When I spoke to her, around two in the afternoon, she was in high spirits over her new project. The event in question must have occurred sometime after our conversation.

She seemed to be talking to herself as she muttered the last bit, but I decided to press her on the matter … casually of course.

"What happened yesterday afternoon?" I asked as I began absently arranging pieces of kindling on top of the bed of crumpled paper I had just created.

"Carlisle didn't tell you?"

"Esme, I have not spoken to Carlisle since yesterday morning," I informed her truthfully, "We talked business; he called to arrange a cardiology consultation for one of his patients in the ER."

I watched as she took a deep breath and gathered her nerve. Oh dear, I thought what has happened now. I listened sympathetically as she told me about the huge disembodied hog head they found in the back of Mike's truck and the subsequent police involvement. This troubled me deeply; in my old life, to receive such a calling card, had very specific implications. I had to find a way to warn her about this without further upsetting her; from the looks of the bags under her eyes, she was already losing sleep over it.

"_Mia cara_, I do not wish to upset you further, but …"_ tactfully, Aro_, I reminded myself as I phrased the rest of the question in my head, "has your ex-husband ever been involved with organized crime?"

"I … I don't know … I don't think so," she shook her head as she answered. This was more from disbelief, I concluded, than from disagreement. "Why?"

I would have to be very careful in the way that I couched my answer. I wanted to warn her of the danger she faced, but at the same time I did not wish to tip my hand. Gentle innocent Esme had no need to know the dark and tawdry details of my past life.

"You know that, before I moved to Atlanta, I had a very successful Cardiology practice in Chicago?"

She nodded politely, but did not interrupt.

"I lived in a suburb, close to the city, and I practiced out of Chicago's largest and most renowned hospital." I continued cautiously. "This is where I met Carlisle as a fresh young doctor, eager to heal the huddled masses of the world," I added to lighten the mood. I was relieved when it had the desired effect; she giggled.

"In my time there, I, uhm … how do you say it … I ran around the block a few times,"

She laughed at my miss-spoken idiom. I was pleased by the fact that, thus far at least, I managed to broach this serious subject in a lighter manner.

"Anyhow, through my duties at the hospital, I received some minor exposure to the workings of the cities underbelly," I paused and allowed my tone to acquire a slight edge. I did not wish to frighten Esme, but I wanted her to understand that this topic was serious. "In Chicago, if a person were to find a severed pig head in the back of their truck … or find it on the front seat of their car … or discover a dead animal of some sort on their front steps … or find such a thing left inside their home … or even in the very bed in which they sleep … this_ would not_ be looked upon as an inconsequential matter. Such a calling card has a very specific meaning, my dear."

"What does it mean," she asked. Her eyes were wide with fear and I hated the fact that I was the one who put it there, but she had to understand.

I stood up for a moment and retrieved the matches from the mantel. "The most direct meaning, of course … is simply … I will kill you." I watched her reaction to this revelation as I struck a match and touched it to the paper under the kindling. My words upset her, to be sure, but they did not terrorize her as I feared they might. Perhaps she had already considered this.

"A more subtle meaning," I continued as I tended the fledgling fire, "and the one that I think your ex-husband is trying to convey, is this: I can find you … I can reach you, no matter where you are … I can come into your _sanctum sanctorum_ … your Holy of Holies … and I can do as I like, and there is nothing you can do to stop me."

I could see she had not thought of this, as my words had her literally shaking. I got up from my seat and crossed the room; when I returned to her side I brought with me a glass with a small amount of Cognac in the bottom of it. Esme was not a drinker, so the conservative dose I offered her would be more than suffice for the purpose of settling her nerves. As expected she pushed the glass away when I proffered it, but I was insistent.

"It will not harm you, _mia cara_" I soothed quietly. "You are as precious to me as one of my children; just as I would never do anything to hurt them, so I would never do anything that would hurt you." Perhaps it would even help her sleep; I thought as I put the glass in her hand. "It is only a swallow or two, drink and you will feel better."

"But Aro …" she began to protest. I could not allow this.

"Esme," I interrupted her gently, "it is clear to me that the events of the past week have you terribly upset. You have not been sleeping as you should and …"

"Aro …"

"No, no, Esme, you will hear me," I quieted her second attempt at protest. "There is no need for you to deny what is obvious. The dark heavy bags under your eyes, your sullen demeanor … these things tell me all I need to know." I paused a moment before adding, "Will you insist that I am wrong?"

"No," she replied as she shook her head.

"Good, then I expect that you will be sensible," I insisted in a softer tone. "Now, I will give you a choice; you can drink the Cognac or, if you find it preferable, I can give you a mild sedative. In either case, you are in desperate need of a good night's sleep and I intend to see that you get it."

She stared at the glass for a long moment and I could see the mental debate raging within her. I could not force her to drink the brandy, but by God, I would see to it that she got decent rest while under my roof. Just as I thought it might be necessary to twist her arm a bit more, she brought the glass of brandy to her lips. I watched her shiver after taking her first small sip … as I suspected, she was not accustomed to strong drink.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Yes, you may ask me anything, but I do not guarantee an answer," I replied as she took another small sip. This time she didn't shiver so much.

"Do you treat Sulpicia like this?"

"Like what," I had an idea about what she meant, but I wanted her to state it.

"Do you force her to do things she doesn't want to do."

I guessed that this was as close to blatantly asking me, _'are you always this controlling'_, as I would likely get from the ever polite Esme.

"_Mia cara_, you must understand something … I love my family and I would give my very life for them if necessary." I had to make her see that, while I did exert a very high level of control over those that I loved, it was, by no means, the same thing she experienced under the brutality of her ex-husband. "To answer you directly; yes, I do treat Sulpicia like this. At times, when I feel that something is in her best interest … or if I fell that it is harmful, I will _literally_ tell her what to do … and in those times, I fully expect her to do as she is told."

Indignation rose up behind her eyes and I needed to quell the fire before it became an inferno. "Please, let me finish Esme," I interrupted her rebuttal before it could start. "You are remembering the way Charles treated you … how he stole your free will, controlled every aspect of your life, and made you miserable … and you think that this is how it must be between Sulpicia and I. Let me assure you that you could not be more wrong.

"Yes, I will admit that I am a very controlling man, however, I have never enforced my will by striking my beloved wife. Additionally, and it may surprise you to know this, but Sulpicia routinely disagrees with me. When she feels strongly about a matter, she is not afraid to tell me so. In these instances we must negotiate in order to come to an amicable solution … in some cases, after a lengthy discussion, I see the wisdom in her position and I concede to her. I do, as they say_, wear the pants in this family_, Esme … but I am not so foolish that I do not realize that, _without Sulpicia_, my pants would be a mess of tattered rags."

While I was speaking, she downed nearly all the Cognac. She swallowed the last of it before addressing me. "You and Carlisle are … a lot alike sometimes," her speech was slightly slurred and I worried that I might have given her too much.

"How so," I asked as I helped her to her feet and started leading her towards the stairs.

"He likes pants … too."

I understood what she was implying and could not help chuckling.

"No, it's true" she insisted as we began our climb, "he likes to tell me what to do and all," she nodded for emphases.

"He means well Esme," I hoped she would remember at least this part of our conversation in the morning. "I can assure you that Carlisle loves you very much … he wants only what is best for you, and he would never ever ill-treat you."

"I know," she muttered. We were outside her bedroom door when she spoke again. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Only the Vatican can keep a secret better than I can." I assured her.

"Most of the time, it really irks me when he tells me what to do, but sometimes," she paused, leaned in close and dropped her voice to a whisper, "but sometimes … it turns me on." She burst into a fit of giggles at this and I could only sigh and shake my head.

I was certain now that the conservative dose of brandy I administered was excessive for my patient's intolerant system. Esme was drunk and tomorrow there would likely be an ugly hangover to deal with. Next time, I would give her chamomile tea laced with a mild sedative instead.

"Good night Esme," I insisted as I opened the door for her. I stood there long enough to make sure she stumbled inside safely.

**0o0o0o0o0o0o0o**

I left my inebriated guest to prepare herself for bed. Feeling badly about Esme's current state, I sent Sulpicia up to check on her. My lovely wife helped the poor woman to bed. When she finished, my beloved found me seated in front of the hearth in the den and proceeded to give me an earful regarding my dubious behavior.

"I should call Carlisle … right now, and tell him what you did," she picked up the receiver for the house phone and shook it at me.

"Beloved," I purred soothingly, "I assure you, I only did for her what I though was medically prudent. The poor woman hasn't slept well since her ex-husband began stalking her. What would you have me do … allow her to endure yet another sleepless night?"

"You had no right to get her drunk Aro," she shot back. "Is that the kind of man I married," she huffed as she turned her back to me, "An unscrupulous scoundrel who … who … who entices vulnerable women into drunkenness."

"Sulpicia," I gasped at her accusation, "I am offended."

"Hump," She grumped. "When you are ready to be serious, Aro Veracini, you will find me in our room." With that she marched off.

A part of me wished that Esme could have seen our exchange; then perhaps she would understand just how much power my wife wielded. If I wished to sleep in my own bed tonight, I would have to either convince Sulpicia that my course of action was justified … or I would have to admit that I was wrong and beg her forgiveness. I was considering how to go about doing the former when a knock came at the door.

"Odd," I muttered as I went to the door. The gate was locked and I hadn't buzzed anyone through since this afternoon; which meant that it had to be someone with the pass code … and only one person outside my immediate family had the pass code to the gate.

I unlocked and opened the door and an arctic blast of night air rushed past me, "Carlisle," I greeted my friend warmly. Behind him his son's stood huddled against the cold. "Please come in … all of you."

I stepped back to accommodate the four of them in the entry hall, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The weather is going to be awful tomorrow," Carlisle began his explanation as he shucked off his coat, "by mid-morning the authorities are predicting that some roads will be impassible."

"Or at least treacherous," Edward added.

"That truck in your driveway," Carlisle scowled.

"Belongs to the Newtons" I finished for him. "I'm afraid that the Hotel Veracini is operating at full occupancy tonight."

"Esme," concern colored his voice as he spoke her name.

"Upstairs asleep," I insisted calmly. "She's in the guest room across from the bathroom. Her girls and the Newton children are camping out in the game room. Mike and Jessica have your old room."

"So where do we stay?" Emmett asked.

"Your father will have the smallest of the upstairs guest rooms while the three of you," I paused to consider where I intended to put them. "The three of you will have the home gym; there is only an elliptical machine, a punching bag, and a stationary bike in there. Move the machines to one end of the room and you should have ample space."

The three boys nodded and trudged off with their sleeping bags and suit cases.

"Why are Esme and the Newton's here?" Carlisle asked as I escorted him upstairs.

"A gas leak at the Newton home," I told him, "their service was cut this morning and won't be restored until Monday. Esme called to see if they could have Thanksgiving dinner with us. I insisted that, since the house now had no heat, that it was too dangerous given the weather for them to remain in the house and that they should come over."

He nodded his approval, "Thank you Aro, I appreciate you looking out for her like that."

"It is my pleasure," I purred with delight as we reached his guest room. "I know that, if the tables were reversed, you would look out for my family." I opened the door, "Good night Carlisle, I will see you in the morning."

_**AN: Now you see why I needed this chapter. All my ducks are in a row … let the games begin.**_


	35. Chapter 35

**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of it creator.**

**Chapter 35**

**Carlisle:**

I woke early as usual; my life as an emergency room physician necessitated rising well before the sun in order to be at the hospital on time. The habit of rising early didn't come with an on/off switch, so I awoke at approximately the same hour irrespective of what day of the week it might be … holidays included.

The chill hit me as soon as I left the warmth of my bedcovers, so I pulled my robe on over my pajamas and made my way down the hall to the bathroom. The house was as dark and quiet at this hour as a cemetery at midnight. As I paused with my hand on the bathroom door knob, I glanced across at Esme's room. I found myself sorely tempted to quietly peep in and check on her, but I resisted the urge; if she still slept, then I would leave her to rest. After quietly brushing my teeth and attending to my other morning needs, I made my way down to Sulpicia's kitchen. I peered out the window above her kitchen sink; sleet mixed with freezing rain was already falling and icicles were beginning to form along the eve of the house, on the patio furniture, and on the branches of the small trees that I could manage to make out in the dim glow of the security light. I was happy I made the decision to come over last night.

Coffee; the word tumbled aggressively to the forefront of my thoughts. Having spent several months living under Aro's roof upon our arrival in Atlanta, I learned my way around the kitchen … and I learned that it was perfectly acceptable to help myself. This freedom did not come right away however, at least four weeks passed before Sulpicia started treating me like family instead of a house guest. I quickly located the can of coffee grounds in the pantry and put on a pot. While the coffee brewed I found my favorite mug tucked lovingly in the back of the dish cupboard. To round things out, I retrieved the creamer from the fridge, and the sugar from the same pantry where I found the coffee. I hoped that the decadent aroma wafting off the mahogany brew wouldn't wake the rest of the sleeping house. I was a bit disappointed as I sat down to the table with my first cup of Italian Supreme and heard bumping on the stairs. I wondered who I managed to disturb, but that question was soon answered.

"Oh, God," a familiar female voice moaned in the darkness, "someone, please shoot me."

"Esme," I muttered as I got up from my chair. She sounded distressed and I was determined to know why.

Before I could make it to the kitchen door, a disheveled Esme stumbled into the room. Her hair was a wild tangled mess, she'd barley managed to pull her dark green house coat on over her flannel night gown, and her eyes were swollen and blood shot. My concern increased tenfold when she looked at me; both of her hand shot up to cover her mouth and her eyes widened pleadingly. I'd seen that look in the ER before.

"Back down the hall, second door on the right," I instructed her on where to find the down stairs powder room. She turned on her heels and darted from the kitchen.

I followed her down the darkened hall and arrived outside the bathroom in time to hear her heaving from behind the closed door. I listened helplessly as the woman I loved tried repeatedly to turn her stomach inside out. I could feel every muscle in my body tensing with the desire to burst the door down and help her in some way. When things finally went quiet behind the unassuming white door, I became even more nervous.

I knocked lightly and then called her name, "Esme."

"Give me a minute," she replied hoarsely, "gotta' clean up."

I leaned back against the wall opposite the door and waited. Water ran in the powder room sink for what seemed like an entirety before it was shut off. When she didn't emerge right away, I tensed again; were we in for another round of vomiting I wondered. If I were at the hospital, I could … the door opened then, and I allowed the panicked thought to die.

"Esme …" I spoke softly.

"Please don't shout," she broke in as her right hand went to her temple. "It makes my headache worse."

I wasn't shouting, of course, but the most minuet noise sounded like canon fire to someone with a severe headache. I nodded as I took her by the shoulders and lead her back to the kitchen. She needed medicine for the pain in her head as well as something to settle her nausea. At the hospital I would have had a cornucopia of pharmaceuticals at my disposal, in Aro's home however my choices were much more basic and limited.

"Sit here," I whispered as I gently pulled the chair out for her. Once I had her settled, I went about preparing her treatment.

"Carlisle," she pleaded, "it hurts so badly. I've never had a headache like this."

"Hold on love," I answered her in a quiet tone. When I glanced over at her she held her head cradled in both hands. "I'm going to give you some Ibuprofen for your head, but I need you to eat first."

"Oh, no, Carlisle," she moaned in protest, "I just finished throwing up … I don't want to do that again. It makes my head pound like a drum."

I felt immensely sorry for her, but I had to be professional … she deserved no less than my best. Ignoring her protest, I put two slices of soft white loaf bread into the toaster. After turning the toaster setting to medium I retrieved a drinking glass from the cupboard where I found my coffee mug. This I filled with ice before opening a bottle of ginger ale. By the time I poured the bright amber Red Rock into the glass and got the bottle of Ibuprofen from the kitchen cabinet, the toast was golden and perfect.

"Here we are," I whispered cheerfully as I approached the table. In an effort to entice her, I sliced the toast into neat triangles and plated it on one of Sulpicia's fine china desert plates. I set the plate and the glass of Red Rock on the table and resumed my seat. "Come on sweetheart, you have to put something on your stomach before I can give you the Ibuprofen for your head."

"Why," she muttered miserably.

"Because the medicine will rip your stomach to shreds if you don't." I pushed the plate a little closer in an effort to coax her, "come on Esme, just a little."

She lowered the hand closest to me and stared at me through an unruly tangle of golden hair, "Really?"

I nodded gravely, "I'm afraid so love."

It took a few more moments for her to give in to the inevitable, but finally she took a triangle of the dry toast and began nibbling on it.

"You should try a few sip of the ginger ale too," I encouraged. According to anecdotal evidence provided to me by patients, ginger ale was an amazing tonic for a queasy stomach.

I let her nibble and sip in peace for a few moments as I resumed nursing my mug of coffee. When I judged she'd taken in enough, I gave her four Ibuprofen tablets; a dose equivalent to the prescription strength tablets we routinely doled out in the ER.

"How long have you been having migraines, my love" I asked as I watched her swallow the tablets, "and is anyone currently treating you for them?"

"I don't think it's a migraine," she replied.

"You doubt my professional opinion?"

"It's a long story," she sighed, "but, I was upset last night and Aro gave me the choice of drinking a small glass of Cognac, or taking a sedative … he was very insistent. I'm not sure, because I've never had one before, but I think I have a hangover… not a migraine."

"He got you drunk!" I was beside myself with rage, how dare Aro get my girlfriend drunk.

"Ooo, Carlisle," she moaned and winced as the volume of my outburst reverberated inside her skull like a church bell.

"Sorry, love," I soothed gently.

I watched her finish most of the toast before finally pushing the plate away. She looked at me with pleading in her eyes, and I knew that she wouldn't take anymore … and if I forced the matter, she would likely bring back up everything she managed to consume … she was done.

"Back to bed with you now," I insisted as I stood, "the best thing for you is sleep."

I escorted Esme back up to her room and saw that she was safely tucked in bed. As I was leaving she grabbed my hand and insisted that I sit. Not wishing to upset her I settled on the edge of her bed. Perhaps she merely wished to have my presence as company as she fell asleep.

"You're angry with Aro, aren't you?" she asked quietly.

"Esme, that's not for you to …"

"Please, Carlisle … its Thanksgiving … please don't fight," she pleaded. "I hate it when people fight at the holidays."

So that was it; she feared that I would storm off, confront Aro, and cause a big holiday blow-up. Of course, I would never do that, if not for her sake then for Sulpicia's. I wouldn't ruin Thanksgiving for the two most important women in my life … no matter how angry I might be with Aro.

"Now, Esme," I soothed as I clasped her hand lightly between mine, "please don't fret. Whatever grievance I have with Aro can wait until later. I'm not about to cause a holiday scene, my love, so do stop worrying and try to get some sleep." I leaned forward and kissed her forehead before standing, "I'll come back and check on you in a little while."

I made one last adjustment of her covers and pillow before walking to the door. My hand was just brushing the knob when she spoke.

"Carlisle," she called my name in a tone just slightly above a whisper.

I turned back to where she lay, had I forgotten something. "Yes."

"I … I love you."

Those three little words hit me like a jolt of electricity. There was a quiet part of me, deep down, that somehow knew she loved me … the rest of me could only hope that this was true. But now, to hear her say the word aloud, to have my quiet hope ratified by her admission … elation surged through me and joy filled me to the bursting point. Only the early hour of the day and my beloved's current malady kept me for shouting.

"I love you too, Esme," I answered in a jubilant whisper, "with all my heart."

**0o0o0o0o0o**

By the time I showered, dressed for the day, and returned to the kitchen Jessica, Sulpicia, and Jane were hustling to make breakfast for a crowd. Jess was having a bit of trouble with the language barrier, but Jane did her best to help out. In spite of the difficulty, the trio was making out fine and I could see mutual admiration glowing in both Jessica and Sulpicia's eyes.

"Good morning, Carlisle," Sulpicia greeted me in Italian, "did you sleep well?"

"Good morning, Mother," I replied in my best Italian. I had been calling Sulpicia mother since my first week in their home. It was meant respectfully, of course, but I also felt a genuine affection for her … she was like a mother to me. "I slept very well, thank you."

"You will sit," she insisted, in English this time, as she pointed to the table. "Breakfast will be soon."

Jessica glanced at the clock on the wall behind the table where I now sat, "Someone's sleeping in." she grumbled playfully, "I guess I should go wake sleeping beauty."

"Please don't," I insisted lightly. "Esme was up earlier and not feeling well. I gave her medicine and put her back to bed."

Sulpicia began muttering angrily to herself in Italian; I made out a few words, but most of it was unintelligible to me. My mastery of the language was limited mostly to casually conversation phrases.

"Is she ok," Jess inquires as she stirred a large pot bubbling on the stove.

"Yes, it was minor," I sighed, "but the extra sleep will do her good."

"I tell him … _You have no right, Aro_," Sulpicia fretted in English. "I tell him … _I should call Carlisle_ …" then she took off in her native tongue on what I could only imagine was a scorching tirade.

Jane's face twisted in disbelief at the way her mother was going on and on, but after a few minutes, a smile curled the corners of her mouth and she shook her head. Jessica on the other hand seemed absolutely distressed with her host's displeasure.

"Mother," I called in my limited Italian, "Mother please … you're upsetting Jessica."

Sulpicia stopped her yammering and looked apologetically at Jessica. "I am sorry," she insisted quietly.

"Its fine," Jessica dismissed. "But what has you so upset … if you don't mind my asking?"

"Last night," Sulpicia wrung her hands nervously as she began. "Aro ask me to help Esme … see she gets to bed ok. I find her … in her room … drunk. Aro make her drink brandy … I smell it on her breath. I am very angry about this … _very angry_ … I confront him, and he say … she upset about her ex-husband making trouble for her. He say she need sleep, so he make her to drink … for medical reasons."

"Esme never has more than a glass of wine with a meal," Jessica shook her head in disbelief as she spoke. "Even when she and I go on a girl's night out with some of my other friends … she's always the designated driver. I can't imagine Esme drunk … or Esme hungover." She looked directly at me then, "That's it isn't it … she has a hangover?"

I nodded solemnly. Even on our picnic, she only had one glass from the bottle Siobhan packed in the picnic basket.

"Oh, that rips it … that man is going to get a piece of my mind," Jessica fumed, "just you wait I'm going to …"

"You'll do nothing of the sort," I insisted firmly. Jessica looked at me as if I physically struck her; it occurred to me that perhaps her husband never spoke to her in such a commanding manner. I ignored her reaction as my mind was set; I wasn't about to have this holiday ruined. "I will handle Aro … _but not today_ … is that clear to all of you. I promised Esme that there would be no drama today and I intend to keep that promises."

The room fell eerily silent for a moment and then a course of _'ok'_ and _'if that's how you want it'_ erupted.

I gave a satisfied nod as I rose from the table, "If you'll excuse me then, I think I'll go check up on Esme."

_**AN: Thanksgiving is off to a rough start already. It would seem, our favorite Godfather in in hot water with both his wife and Jess … not to mention Carlisle.**_


	36. Chapter 36

**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator.**

**Chapter 36**

**Esme:**

The smell of holiday cooking filled the house; the meatiness of roasting turkey, sage from the cornbread dressing and fresh cranberries simmering in cinnamon and citrus created an aromatic portrait of the holiday. Unfortunately, I wasn't certain how much of it my still unsettled stomach could handle. I was feeling considerably better than I had when I first woke; the Ibuprofen Carlisle gave me was an absolute Godsend. About two hours ago, he returned to check on me. My head was still pounding, though admittedly not as bad, and he gave me two extra strength Tylenol tablets.

"I should get up … and help out," I remembered trying to insist in spite of the pain and the lingering queasiness in my stomach.

Carlisle wasn't having it, and his accent surfaced as he rebuked my intentions. "Not a bit of it," he scolded gently as he offered me the Tylenol, "you will remain in bed until your headache clears and you no longer feel the desire to throw up … is that understood young lady," then he glared at me and added, "Doctor's orders!"

I rolled over onto my back and stretched under the covers. Yes, Carlisle could be controlling, I thought as I stared at the celling, he had no problems what-so-ever with telling me what to do … or with expecting my obedience in the matter, _but he loved me_. That had been the key ingredient missing in my marriage; Charles controlled my life with absolute authority, but he never ever loved me. Charles didn't care if I lived or died, so long as he wasn't inconvenienced by it and he still got his dinner on time. Life in the Everson home unequivocally revolved around Charles like the Earth revolves around the Sun.

In stark contrast, I was the center of Carlisle's concern and attention and that was a phenomenon that was foreign to me. He willingly set aside the things he was doing to take care of me; he called out to take me to see Mr. Castellano and this morning he scraped his morning routine when I was sick. That was something my ex-husband would never have done.

In spite of my earlier misery, I took full notice of his tenderness and care; the way he prepared ginger ale and toast for me and then insisted that I eat because it was in the best interest of my good health. He could have dismissed me after he gave me the medicine and simply sent me back to my bed, but he didn't; instead, he escorted me to my room and tucked me lovingly into bed with kind words and a kiss. Carlisle made me feel wanted and loved; I was more precious than gold or diamonds in his sight.

My grandmother's voice drifted into my remembering, and I could hear her singing the little praise song she always murmured to herself as she worked:

_ I was a little bird with a broken wing_

_In too much pain to fly and much too sad to sing_

_I lay there in the dust waiting for the end_

_You saw me laying there and kindly took me in._

_ You gently picked me up, and bound my broken wing_

_You showered me with love and thought my heart to sing_

_Now I can fly again, to the heavens I can sore_

_I belong to you, Lord, for now and evermore_

I'd always admired the little song, I was sure she composed it herself because I'd never found it in any book, on recordings, or on the internet. Grandmother was a deeply religious woman, and I knew that the song was about the love of God and the power it had to heal the brokenness within us. The song however seemed strangely poignant with respect to Carlisle and I. Charles broke my wings. He stole my confidence and self-esteem and _I was in too much pain to fly_. He robed me of joy and love and _I was much too sad to sing_. But Carlisle bound up my brokenness with his kindness and love. He brought joy back to my life and taught my heart to sing again. He gave me encouragement that served to build me up; I was learning to fly again under Carlisle's tender ministrations.

Tears streamed down my face as I hauled back the bed covers and sat up. These were not tears of sorrow … no, these tears were tears of joy and gratitude for the love that I had found. Every Thanksgiving, I stood with my girls around the Newton's table and I gave thanks for my friends and for my three amazing daughters, but this year … I was also thankful for Carlisle coming into my life.

Silently, I crept across the darkened room to the door and opened it; laughter and the sound of conversation drifted up along with the mouthwatering aromas from downstairs. I slipped across the hall the bathroom; I no longer wished to throw up and my head wasn't pounding like a jackhammer anymore. After taking care of my immediate needs, I looked at myself in the mirror; as Jess would say, I was a hot mess. I turned on the sink and found a washcloth so I could wash my face.

"Esme," Carlisle's warm yet concerned voice called from beyond the door, "I heard you get up, are you alright?"

"I'm much better," I replied through the closed door. "I'll be out in a minute."

When I finally opened the bathroom door, Carlisle was waiting in the hall. He appraised me with his carefully trained medical eye. I felt the unyielding weight of his scrutiny, but it was tempered with an equally unyielding affection. I knew that I would never be afraid of this man because he would never give me cause to be afraid.

"How's your head," he asked. "Rate your pain on a scale of zero to ten, with zero being no pain and ten being the worst pain you've ever had." It was a very clinical question rendered in his warm yet professional _'doctor's voice'_.

I sighed as I considered this; I still had a slight headache, but it was more annoying than debilitating. "When I got up this morning, I'd say it was an eight. When you came in and gave me the Tylenol it was a four and a half or a five. I'm still not pain free, but I'm down to a one and a half … if you start playing the bongos and singing karaoke, then maybe a two."

He nodded and seemed impressed. "You're more coherent than you were earlier and your sense of humor is back," he agreed and I saw a faint smile on his lips, "that's always a good sign. How about your nausea?"

"That's a lot better too, but …"

"But," he insisted firmly as his left eyebrow shot up.

"But, I'm not sure I want to gorge myself on holiday fare," I replied honestly. "I think I should take it easy at the table."

A broad smile replaced the faint guarded one he had moments earlier and he folded me into his arms. "I'm glad you're feeling better, love," he whispered into my hair, "I was very worried about you."

I returned his embrace, wrapping my arms around him and snuggling against his chest. "Am I still confined to isolation Doctor?" I muttered into the folds of his shirt.

With my left ear pressed against his chest, I could hear the rich chuckle reverberated through him. The sound of his laughter combined with the steady thumping of his heart produced a celestial music that I never wanted to stop listening to. Unfortunately he chose that moment to release me, hold me out at arm's length and appraise me again.

"I don't suppose it would be fair to keep you locked away for the whole day," he spoke as he regarded me. "You may dress and come down stairs … BUT … If your headache returns or you start to feel sick, its back to bed with you. Do I make myself clear?"

I wanted to at least appear serious, but the grin that took over my face made the impossible. "Yes Doctor, I understand."

**0o0o0o0o0o**

Aro's formal dining room was, in a word, massive. The large ornately carved mahogany dinner table had been moved from its central location in the room so that the equally large kitchen table could fit in the room as well. This was the only solution to accommodate Aro's family plus twelve guests. The main table was already tastefully dressed for the holiday with a rich burgundy table cloth, candles in harvest tones, and an amazing yet understated centerpiece. The kitchen table looked plain by comparison and I was determined to remedy that, if I could. I felt I needed to make some sort of contribution after sleeping most of the day.

"Sulpicia, do you have another nice table cloth for the extra table?" I asked her as she checked whatever was baking in the oven.

She regarded me thoughtfully for a moment and then smiled at me before turning to her daughter and rattling off something in Italian. The girl scurried off, returning a few minutes later with a second lovely table cloth … it was a near identical twin to the one already on the master table.

After spreading the cloth, the kitchen table looked more like it belonged in the grand formal dining room, but it was still missing something. I began wandering the house looking for decor items and soon discovered that Sulpicia liked to decorate with candles and candle holders, of all types and sizes, as well as a rich array of other interesting baubles. As I wandered into the den on my search for items to dress the table with, I found Aro relaxing in front of the fire with a book open in his lap.

"Mia cara," he greeted me warmly, "you are feeling better?"

"Yes, much better, thank you."

"I am sorry about last night," he apologized sadly, "I did not mean to get you drunk. I only intended to give you enough Cognac to relax you so that you could sleep well."

"I know, its ok." I accepted his apology because I knew he actually meant it. "Uhm, do you mind if I move thing in the house … I mean to borrow candles and things to dress the extra table."

"Be my guest," he made a wide sweeping gesture with his hand, "take whatever you like."

By the time I finished arranging the candles and other appropriate odds and ends I found as I wandered through the house, Jane arrived with a stack of place mats, chargers and dinner plates.

"Mom said to bring these to you," she said as she set down the load. "Alec is coming with the silver ware and the rest of the place settings."

"Thank you," I replied as I began laying out the place mats.

"It looks great by the way," she nodded approvingly as she spoke, "I wasn't expecting the … you know … the 'kids table' to look quite so elegant."

"You are young men and young women, Jane," I insisted, "not 'kids' and you should be treated as such."

"Thanks Ms. Esme," she answered and then she cocked her head towards the kitchen, "I'd better go, mom's fussing over something and I should see if Mrs. Jessica needs a translator." She left the room, but only to pop back in again instantly, "almost forgot, here," she set a box of matches on the end table, "for the candles."

As promised, Alec came along shortly after Jane left carrying the reminder of the place settings in a large box. He didn't say much as he put the box down, Jane struck me as the most outgoing of the pair. Poor Alec fled the room in a hurry, as if he expected me to find some task for him to do. I found myself giggling as I went back to work setting the table. When my mirth subsided, I began to hum absently; it wasn't until Carlisle walked into the room that I became aware of what tune I was humming … it was the melody to my Grandmother's _Little Bird_ song. I instantly stopped and the room fell back into silence.

"No, love, please don't stop on my account," he insisted quietly, "You have such a lovely voice, and that was a beautiful piece of music … but I don't recognize it."

"It's a folk song my Grandma used to sing," I dismissed. I was very embarrassed as I never hummed or sang where others could hear me. "I'm not surprised you don't recognize it … God only knows how old it is."

"Are there lyrics to it," he asked as he picked up the box of matches.

"Yes," I replied, "a few."

"Will you teach them to me," he continued his casual inquiry as he lit the candles on the master table. "I'm rather fond of very old folk songs."

"Yes, I will … but not today." I answered as a twin tendrils of sadness and joy wrapped themselves around my heart; sadness as I thought of Grandma Platt who was gone on now and joy as I pondered the love of the man standing in the room with me.

"Whenever you're ready, Esme," He whispered as he came to stand behind me. He planted a kiss on the top of my head and repeated, "Whenever you're ready."

**0o0o0o0o0o0**

We all stood around the tables in the Veracini dining room, hands clasped and heads down, as Aro intoned the Thanksgiving blessing. His beautiful accent and the reverent yet eloquent way in which he spoke lent certain solemnness to the occasion. I felt as if I was back in church with my parents. When he ended the prayer I joined in the chorus of_ Amen_ that rose up in the room.

We were about to sit, when Jessica decided to interject something, "Uhm, Aro … I know that this is your house and your table, but there is something that our family does at Thanksgiving … after the blessing is said."

"Today my house is your house and my table is your table," Aro insisted. "Feel free to uphold whatever traditions you keep around your Thanksgiving table … and we will partake of them as well, if you do not mind."

"Well, it's simple really," Jessica began nervously. "After the blessing, everyone has to say at least one thing that they are thankful for. It can be anything from a good grade at school to … having a warm place to shelter from a blizzard … anything so long as you're truly thankful for it."

"Enumerating the blessings in one's life," Aro considered the suggestion thoughtfully. "I like this tradition of yours Jessica. Please allow me to go first.

"I am thankful to have my family, whom I love, my old friends and my new friends, whom I cherish … all here with me today … gathered around this table to share good food and good fellowship."

The floor passed from person to person around the room. I was surprised at some of the things the young people admitted to being thankful for. I expected frivolity from them, but was pleased when they were thoughtful and sincere. Jessica was seated to my right and I startled when she nudged me, it was my turn. I did this every year, so why was I suddenly nervous.

"I am thankful for my three wonderful daughters," I began slowly. "They are truly a blessing in my life. I am thankful for the love and support of all my dear friends; I couldn't make it in this world without all of you. I am also thankful for the hospitality shown to us by Aro and his family; you opened you doors to us during our time of need and made us feel welcome. And lastly," I paused and looked to my left where Carlisle was standing … I looked directly into the open azure sky that existed in his eyes "I'm thank for you, Carlisle; for the joy and love that you have brought back into my life_. I was a little bird, with a broken wing_ …" That was a much as I could manage to say, if I spoke any more my voice would betray me and I would dissolve into tears at Aro's table.

Carlisle wrapped his arm around me and held me for a few seconds. "You're a hard act to follow, my love," he joked, "remind me to go before you next time." The room erupted in giggles.

He let me go as he began to speak, "I am thankful for the three young men that I am privileged to call my sons. Life has been a challenge for us, and I haven't always been the best father I could be, but my life wouldn't be complete without you. I am also thankful for my friends," I noticed him look directly at Aro and Sulpicia, "my old friends who were there for me in the dark times," then he turned to Mike and Jessica, "and I am thankful for my new friends and all the support that they provide." Then he turned to me, lifted my chin with his finger, and spoke to me as if no one but the two of us were present in the room. "And I am thankful for you, Esme. You aren't the only one who has known brokenness, my love; when Rebecca died, I consigned my life to an empty painful void where love and joy did not exist. Then you came along, with your smile and your laughter … and rescued me from that empty void. If I live a thousand years, I still wouldn't be able to find words enough to express my love for you or how truly thankful I am that you came into my life."

The room fell briefly into silence before Aro came to everyone's rescue, "I believe that calls for a toast," he picked up his wine glass and raised it in the air, "To all the things we hold most dear and are truly thankful for on this, the day of giving thanks: friends and family, food and fellowship, refuge from the storms that rage around us, and of course … to love."

As everyone in the room raised their glasses to Aro's toast, the lights flickered on and off three times before going out completely. With the exception of the candles that illuminated the dining room, the the house was plunged into darkness.

"Well, this is an interesting development," Aro commented as he took his seat. "The house is warm and the food is hot, let us eat before both of them grow cold. We can worry about the power situation later."

_**AN: Yes, more stuff happens at the holiday table … you'll just have to wait and see.**_

_**The poem is one that I wrote a while back and it appears in Chapter 20 of another story I'm in progress on, **__**The Colony**__**. Typically Blue is not a poet, but I do have my moments.**_


	37. Chapter 37

**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator.**

**Chapter 37**

**Aro:**

I sat contentedly at the head of the table. Before me a feast to please every one of the human senses had been laid; food and drink as a feast to please the nose and the pallet, holiday decorations to please the eyes and the touch, but most importantly the company of friends and family to please the ears and, of course, the heart. My professional specialty was cardiology, and if today's gathering was not a panacea for an ailing heart, then I knew nothing at all about the subject and should retire my shingle in disgrace.

Never mind that the power was out. No one seemed to care as the enjoyed the meal and pleasant conversation by the warm glow of candlelight. It was quite nice actually; it could not have turned out better if I planed the power outage myself. Beyond the thick stone walls of my cozy home, a rare southern blizzard raged, but inside a happy gathering glowed with the light of love.

An inch and a quarter of ice accumulated over the course of the morning and now four inches of snow lay on top of it with another three inches expected to fall before it was predicted to stop in the small hours of Friday morning. But worse, the temperatures were not going to climb above freezing before Sunday. A full seven inches of snow and an inch of ices would remain on the ground and on the streets until then … effectively, the entire Atlanta metro was shut down and on ice.

"I don't mean to be a wet blanket, or sound ungrateful, Aro, but what are we going to do about heat?" Mike asked seriously. "It seems like we're kind of out of the frying pan and into the fire here."

"Not exactly my friend," I soothed, "you have no gas … and likely no power as well by now, the storm dumped more ice on your side of town. We still have gas here and I have an electric generator to run the electrical components of the furnace and blowers. Unfortunately, the generator is small; it can provide either heat or lights but not both. Additionally, I only have enough diesel fuel for seventy two hours of continues operation."

"I vote for heat," Jessica offered, "the candles are nice … kind of romantic." She nudged her husband suggestively and I was glad that I put the two of them in the large room with the privet bath and king sized bed.

"How long do you suppose the power will be out?" Carlisle inquired. "And have you heard anything about the hospitals."

"After dinner I will call Georgia Power and see what answers they have to offer," I replied, "Caius called me earlier; Grady is operating on its emergency preparedness protocol. Marcus called me to tell me that Emory Hospital's main campus was on diversion; they lost municipal power and are operating on emergency generators, but what's worse is that their main boiler went down and they can't provide sufficient hot water."

"Is that bad?" Esme asked. Her face was a scowl of concern; being romantically involved with someone on the frontline of the health care profession placed her in unfamiliar waters. I remembered the days when Sulpicia had to get used to these things.

"Yes and no," Carlisle answered her patiently, "None of the patients in house at the hospital are in any real danger. They'll simply use what hot water they have from the other boilers to maintain the heating system and such, but things will be limited. As for diversion status … it means that, while the ER is still technically open, they aren't receiving ambulances … except by patient request or unless it's a dire case."

While Carlisle continued Esme's crash course in Hospital Protocol 101, I allowed my attention to drift to the table full of teens. The way that they chose to arrange themselves at the table intrigued me. The Newton children sat side by side as did my own twins, I expected this, but the rest of the seating arrangements were anything but expected. Esme's daughters and Carlisle's sons had aggregated into the team pairings from the fence painting contest. Edward sat beside Isabella, Jasper sat with Alice and Rosalie was next to Emmett. They all talked boisterously as part of the larger group, as teens will do, but, at various times, the pairs spoke in hushed tones with their respective partners. I found this very curious. Of course I wanted them to get along, but I wasn't sure if I wanted them to get along _that well. _How Carlisle and Esme would fell about the possibility of their children dating amongst themselves remained to be seen. I could understand how it might prove awkward, but none of them were technically related.

"Hey Aro," Edward spoke up from the youth table. "Did you ever figure out who won our little contest?"

"Ah, the contest, yes I did determine a winner," I answered his question cheerfully. Edward had been a different young man today; much less sullen and contrary than usual. And I had noted that Isabella was never far from his shadow.

"What contest," Esme asked with a smile.

"Well, last weekend, while you and Carlisle enjoyed the Georgia country side," I hummed pleasantly, "your children were here with me. I devised a little contest, call it Aro's Hunger Games … they divided themselves into teams and took on the challenge of painting my new wooden privacy fence. The team that panted the greatest area of fence before lunch time would be the winner."

"And which team won?" Jessica seemed quite excited in spite of the fact that her children weren't involved.

"Well, that is the trouble," I sighed. "There was no clear cut winner when we stopped for lunch … all the painted areas looked approximately the same. I had to resort to mathematics and technology in order to determine a winner. You see I take my contests very seriously, so I had a professor friend of mine from Georgia Tech come over to photograph the painted areas and take various measurements. He plugged the information into a computer program that he is working on and it calculated the area of each painted section out to six decimal places … I was quite impressed."

"And," Jessica was practically squirming in her seat.

"I will tell you the truth, it was very close," Jessica's reaction was so amusing that I had to admit; I was having entirely too much fun dragging this out. "Six decimal places almost did not give us the answer … Dr. Jaikaran nearly had to reconfigure the parameters of his program. BUT …"

"Yes," Jessica squealed.

I realized, in that moment, that there was no conceivable way to drag this out any longer. To say that I was disappointed was an understatement. "The winner, by one square micrometer … is the team of … Edward and Isabella."

Applause and laughter erupted in the room, only Emmett seems unenthusiastic. I would not have characterized his reaction as hostile, but rather, confused.

"Hey dad," Emmett spoke up when the rancor in the room died down. "How big is one micrometer?"

"Not very big at all," Carlisle answered his son. "At the hospital, we sometimes have occasion to use such minute units of measure, but they're more commonly used in research labs. A single _E. coli_ bacteria cell averages about two micrometers in length and half a micrometer in diameter … and you'll need a microscope if you want to see it."

"Well that doesn't seem fair," Jasper picked up, "how many of those square micrometers separated me and Alice from Emmett and Rose?"

"Three." I replied with a shrug, "and, fair or not … numbers do not lie." I could see the hurt and indignation beginning to cloud the faces of Emmett, Rosalie, Alice, and Jasper. This was not what I intended when I initiated the competition … I wanted to foster a bonding among the young ones, not create a foundation for bitterness. "However, as your father has pointed out, these are miniscule units of measure. The diameter of a human hair, to provide yet another example, is given to be somewhere between seventeen and one hundred eighty micrometer, depending on what reference book you look in.

"Having said that, perhaps justice would be better served if I declared a draw … as we are, quite literally, talking about a difference between the three painted areas that is less than the diameter of a single human hair … less than a hair's breath, you could say."

As I picked up my fork and resumed eating, the six of them began murmuring among themselves. I could not wait to see what comments they would come up with next … and I did not have to wait long.

"Is there a prize?" I was shocked that it was young Isabella who asked this question … she was so shy that she hardly spoke. Perhaps her association with Edward would prove to have a positive effect on her.

"Yes my dear, there is a prize," I answered, giving them no more information than that.

More murmuring ensued behind this revelation. At the adult table, my beloved Sulpicia, Carlisle, Esme, and the Newtons must have caught on to my little game as they were all attempting, unsuccessfully, to hide their amusement.

"What sort of prize," Alice asked next.

"And who will get it," Emmett followed up. "Will you give it just to Edward and Bella?"

I sighed as if I might be growing weary of them, but this was not the case. "No Emmett, the prize will not go to just Edward and Isabella … you will all receive it." In fact, it would work out better this way as I would have an opportunity to get them all together again.

"So what is this prize?" Rosalie took up this time.

I finished chewing my mouthful of turkey and dressing, washed it down with a sip of wine, and then wiped my mouth before answering, "Why don't I start by telling you what it is not."

"Narrowing things down that way could take all evening," Edward groaned.

I found myself laughing at his reaction. "Not really," I finally dismissed. "First of all, it is not money; that would be a frivolous prize and would not honor the effort that the six of you put into the contest."

"I wouldn't mind money," Rosalie sneered.

"With money, you will buy things, Rosalie," I corrected her gently, "Thing that you will use for a time and throw away … or grow weary of, and give away or sell on E-bay.

"Which brings me to the second thing; your prize is not a material object either."

"Ok, so no money and no … material stuff," Isabella scowled, "So what does that leave?"

I pursed my lips and nodded solemnly, it was time. I got up from my chair, went to the sideboard table, and retrieved the envelope that I had tucked into the drawer the day before. I handed the envelope to Edward and resumed my seat.

"Stocks and bonds," Emmett inquired as he stared at the envelope in Edward's hand.

"Why not simply open it," I suggested as I picked up my fork again.

Edward took up the knife from his place setting, cut the envelop open, and withdrew the single sheet of paper with in. "A map with a location circled on it and a set of numbers scrawled on the corner of the page." He passed the map to Isabella before turning to glare at me hotly, "What the hell man … what kind of fucked up …"

"Edward Cullen!" Carlisle's stern rebuke was instantaneous, "You will mind your language, young man … there are ladies present."

"Aro, just what is this," Jasper inquired calmly. I was not at all surprised by this as he was the most levelheaded and thoughtful of the three of them.

"Have you ever heard of geocaching?" I asked in reply.

"It's like a glorified grown-up treasure hunt kind of thing," Isabella supplied. "Right?"

"Essentially, yes." I nodded. Isabella was shy, but exceptionally bright. "In days gone by, young ones your age commonly struck out on adventures to test themselves against the wider world and learn their worth. In medieval Europe, these journeys took on the form of the Quest … often embarked upon by Knights.

"In the spirit of this tradition, I have arranged a private geocaching expedition for the six of you. The starting location is marked on the map along with its exact GPS coordinates. There you will find clues that will lead you to the first checkpoint. Each checkpoint will have information vital for reaching the next checkpoint. Again, you will be in teams … if you wish, you make keep your current pairing or you may switch partners. The choice is yours, but any swapping must be agreeable to all parties involved." I looked the six of them over, they seemed a bit stunned. "So what say you … will you accept my quest?"

"What will we find at the end of it?" Emmett asked in wide eyed wonder.

"The Holy Grail," I replied sarcastically.

It took nearly a half hour of mumbling amongst them before the six of them came to an agreement; they would all go on my little _geoquest_ and they would retain their current parings. I was not terribly surprised to hear that the couples would remain together as it was obvious that something was developing between them. I felt a mixture of contentment and trepidation at this development; contentment in the fact that the groups were no longer at each other's throats, but trepidation concerning the possibility of where such relationships could go. Carlisle always warned me that one day my meddling might end up exploding in my face … I could only hope his words were not about to come home to roost.

**Carlisle:**

Thanksgiving dinner was the absolutely amazing; not just the food, but the whole atmosphere of our gathering … and especially having Esme beside me. She and Jessica were in the kitchen now, helping Sulpicia with the after feast clean-up. Aro retired upstairs to his office to harass Georgia Power in private. The children moved off to the game room; even with no power, there were still billiards, board games, and a foosball table to keep them occupied. I retired to the den where I poked up the fire that Aro made earlier in the day; when he made it, the fire was form ambiance, but now it was for warmth as well. With the hearth crackling merrily again I lit several candles in the room and selected a book from one of the shelves and settled down to read. Aro had an amazing book collection that I made no secret of being jealous over.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been reading when Esme finally drifted in from the kitchen. I scooted over and made room for her as he came to join me on the sofa. She shivered as she settled beside me and I took note of the hearth; the fire was in need of attention again. After stirring the coals and adding another log, I returned to Esme's side … and I brought with me a throw blanket from Aro's favorite chair.

"Here," I insisted as I wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. "The fire will warm the room soon, but the blanket will help in the meantime."

"Thank you," she replied. "I thought I left winters like this behind in Ohio."

"The winter in Washington isn't much better," I observed lightly. "And winters in Chicago are downright brutal."

After a good ten minutes, she was still shivering even under the blanket and this concerned me; I decided to try something, and I hoped that she wouldn't take it the wrong way. I settled into the crock of the sofa with my back against the armrest.

"Come here sweetheart … lean back against me," I invited her, patting my chest as I arranged myself. She looked at me strangely and I added, "You want to be warmer don't you."

She nodded but continued to regard me with suspicion.

"Then put your back against my chest, and I'll cover us both with the blanket." When she didn't seem inclined to move, I realized what she needed. "I love you Esme, and because I love you, I have the upmost respect for you. I endeavor to behave in a gentlemanly fashion whenever we're together. I have no intention of wavering from that resolve now … lean back against me love; your virtue is safe with me."

She nodded and shifted herself so that her back was against me. Once she was snuggled comfortably into place; I took the throw blanket and spread it over the both of us. I felt her sigh contentedly as I wrapped my arms around her. My nose found her hair and I nuzzled the crown of her head before kissing her there. While I preferred kissing her mouth, the crown of her head had its own special place in my heart; here I could inhale the warm enchanting smell of her as my lips brushed against her hair.

"You promised to be a gentleman," she teased.

"I am being a gentleman," I insisted, although I had to admit, holding her like this tempted me to forget my promise. Having her in my arms brought the flames of desire to life within me.

"This is warmer," she admitted reluctantly.

"You see, my idea was practical after all," I gloated in jest, "and here you thought I was merely seeking an excuse to cuddle."

She tilted her head so she could glimpse my face, "Perhaps, but your reasoning doesn't deny the fact that _you did_ want to cuddle."

I gave her a little squeeze and nuzzled her hair again, "Only a fool would deny such a thing. Know this Esme Ann Platt; I look for any and every reason to be near you these days."

We slipped into a comfortable silence as we snuggled under the blanket and watched the fire blazing in the hearth. I was struck by how right everything felt; the two of us alone in the den huddled together under the blanket in the pale glow of candles and the fire. In fact, since that first Saturday that we spent together, my whole life suddenly felt right again. When I told her that I sought every reason to be near her, it wasn't a lie … I wanted her with me every minute of every day _from now on_. I wanted, more than anything, to make her a permanent fixture in my life, but I wasn't sure how she would react to me if I asked her. A bad marriage had the potential to sour a person's opinion of being married. I hoped that her experience with Charles hadn't had that effect on her; not all men were like that … God knows I certainly wasn't. The matter was quite simple; I had to have Esme for my wife, and I didn't care what lengths I had to go to in order to win her over.

"Well isn't this just charming," Roses voice sounded like a thunderclap in the quiet den.

Esme struggled to untangle herself from the blanket and me, but I held her firmly, "Be still love, we've done nothing wrong."

The six of them trooped in and stood like statues between the fireplace and the sofa. They glared at us with a mixture of shock and disappointment etched on their faces. Edward and his brothers seemed the most disappointed, and I felt instantly guilty … not because of my love for Esme, but because I had done nothing to prepare them for this moment. Rose and her sisters seemed more shocked; perhaps they feared that my presence in their mother's life would represent a repeat performance of their father's brutality.

"I told you we needed to talk to them," Rose continued, "I knew it when I heard all that gushy crap at the dinner table … not to mention the way they kept ogling each other."

"Dad how could you," Edward protested. My being with Esme must seem like the hugest betrayal to him, he was his mother's favorite after all.

"I think Rose is correct," I insisted as I helped Esme to sit up properly. I didn't really wish to end our cuddling session, but this matter needed addressing in a serious and dignified fashion. "We do need to talk … please, sit down."

"Hump," Rose stiffened her posture and crossed her arms, "You're not my father."

"Sit down," Esme insisted sternly. "Now!"

When they were all settled I felt it was somehow my place, as the man in the relationship, to take charge of this gathering. "I want to begin by apologizing to the six of you. Esme and I are very much in love … _that is not what I am apologizing for._ My apology is for the fact that, in the giddiness of or growing attraction to each other, we never took the time to bring the six of you up to speed on what was going on between us."

"You think," Rose grumbled.

Esme tensed beside me, I took her hand in mine and offered a gentle reassuring squeeze. "Let me, love," I insisted quietly.

I returned my attention to the children. "Rose, you seem to be the most vocal, so why don't I pass the floor to you. What has you so upset … what concerns you?"

"God, are you always this diplomatic?" she sneered.

"I do try … but I'm sure that isn't the question that you really want to ask me."

"Alright, I'll get straight to the point," she stood up, squared her shoulders and gave me the hardest glare that her beautiful face could muster. "What are your intentions towards our Mother?"

"Rosalie Everson, how dare you …"

"No Esme," I interrupted her indignant response, "Rose and her sisters have every right to ask that question … and I intend to answer it … hopefully to their satisfaction."

I turned my attention back to the girls, "Couched in the simplest of terms, my intentions towards you Mother are these: I intend to love her with all my heart and all my soul … deeply and fully … for as long as she will allow me to do so. I intend to see to her happiness, no matter what that might entail. And I intend to see to her safety and security by protecting her, both physically and mentally, from any threat or source of harm.

"Does that answer meet with your satisfaction?"

"I liked it … it was a very pretty answer," Alice spoke up, "but it doesn't really tell us much."

I smiled at Alice, "then let me try again. I love your Mother and I intend to continue seeing her … to continue building on the relationship we've started together. And some day, if I am very, very lucky … perhaps I will be able to convince her to grow old with me."

"You want to marry our mother?" the expression on Bella's face was confused and apprehensive.

"You're getting a little too far ahead Bella," I soothed gently; "we aren't there yet."

"But that's where your ultimately going," the hurt in Edwards voice pained me greatly. "You'll never be our Mother," he lashed out at Esme and then turned back to me, "How could you?"

"Edward, I …"

Esme touched my arm gently and I when I turned to her, she wore a soft material expression, "let me sweetheart," she insisted.

I couldn't argue with her when she regarded me that way; I nodded and relinquished the floor to her.

"Edward, I am so very sorry about your Mother," she cooed sweetly. "You and your brothers seem like fine young men … the three of you are a living testimony to the kind of woman and the kind of mother that she must have been. I didn't have the privilege of knowing her, but I think I can safely say that she would be very proud of the three of you … I know I would be, if you were my sons.

"But you're not my sons … and I can never fill the void in your hearts left in the wake of your Mother's passing. To claim that I can, or that I could try, would be an affront to her memory. The only things that I can offer you are … my counsel if you want it … my friendship if you seek it … my guidance if you'll have it … and, of course … my love if you'll let me give it."

I watched Edward; his eyes were fixed on Esme the entire time she spoke. The hard bitter edge that clouded his expression when he lashed out at her softened as she spoke; he now looked as if he might break down.

"Don't you love mom anymore?" Emmett croaked. Tears leaked from the corners of my youngest son's eyes and the sight of his sorrow was nearly my undoing.

"Of course I still love her," I replied as pain seared the center of my chest, "I will always hold your mother in a very special part of my heart. My relationship with Esme doesn't change that."

"Yes it does," he insisted weekly.

"No it doesn't Emmett," I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I gathered my thoughts, "Son, if it were with in my power to do so … if for one moment in time I could wield the power of Almighty God … I would restore you Mother to you … even at the expense of my own soul … _But I do not have this power and I cannot bring her back."_

The room fell into silence once more; the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the howling of the wind outside were the only sounds. Brokenness, I thought as my gaze shifted from face to face, here we were, eight broken vessels in desperate need of mending. Was it possible that, together, we could find a pathway to wholeness once more … did we, collectively, possess the all the ingredients necessary to compound the balm that would bind up and heal all of our wounds?

"This is a very important dialogue that we're having and a lot of things have been said here tonight," I sighed wearily. "I think that it might be in everyone's best interest to pause and digest some of it before we discuss things any further. Get some sleep … take time to think … talk amongst yourselves, and tomorrow night we'll come together once more and continue the dialogue. Is that agreeable to everyone?"

Murmurs and nods of agreement answered me, then slowly the six of them filed from the room and diapered to their respective corners of the house. Esme and I were alone in the dark once more.


	38. Chapter 38

**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator.**

**Chapter 38**

**Carlisle:**

I woke as I usually did; before the sun. The house was cold in spite of the generator running off and on through out the night to provide some heat. Aro had it on a timer so that it ran for a set number of hours and then shut off. This was in an effort to conserve fuel as Georgia Power estimated that it could be ten days before electric service was restored. Nearly two thirds of their customers in the Metro were currently in the dark.

Esme and I sat up quite late after the children drifted off to bed. We talked for hours about the situation; both the children's concerns regarding us as a couple as well as our own mishandling of the entire affair. We should have been more open with them from the beginning. However, Esme did make a valid point when she insisted that our relationship had all but blindsided the two of us as well.

"It all happened so fast, Carlisle," I remembered her saying.

She was correct, of course. I'd gone from avoiding Esme like the plague because I felt ashamed of the attraction that I had for her, to being in a deliberate and unapologetic romantic relationship with her. This change had occurred in the span of only a few short weeks. Still, I should have said something to my sons … at least mentioned her name in casual conversation. Instead, however, they received their first notice of our involvement as Esme and I exchanged a very public declaration of love at the Thanksgiving dinner table. In hind sight, I suppose I couldn't very well blame them for being upset.

"And then, of course, there was your behavior," I reminded myself aloud as I lit the candle beside my bed.

I hadn't exactly handled the children's little intervention very well either … or at least that was Esme's observation.

_"Can I say something without upsetting you," I remember her asking hesitantly. I found myself shock that she would feel the need to qualify her remarks by asking such a thing._

_"Esme, you can tell me anything … surly you know that."_

_"When it comes to you and me, maybe," she sighed. I took note of the troubled expression on her face, and I remembered feeling very nervous at that moment as I feared she might be about to give our relationship the sack over the children's protests._

_"Please don't take this the wrong way, because God knows I'm not a perfect parent myself, but," she continued quietly, "Carlisle, are you always so … stiff … when you deal with your kids?"_

_"I wasn't trying to be harsh with them, my love … I understand that this is a huge shock for all of them, and ..."_

_"No, that's not what I mean," she interrupted me. I quickly realized that she wasn't correcting me; rather, she seemed to be correcting herself. "Aloof … that's the word I think I want, not stiff. Are you always so aloof? When you spoke to the kids, it seemed almost as if you were stuck in doctor mode instead of shifting to father mode."_

Stuck in doctor mode, I sighed as I picked up the candle and crossed the bedroom towards the door. How often had my sons complained about that to me? Even Rebecca had pointed out my tendency to deal with life's difficulties in the guise of Dr. Carlisle Cullen MD rather than tackle them as simply Carlisle, a husband and father. In my defense, doctor mode made things easier … it allowed me to put a comfortable cushion of distance between my emotional self and the problem at hand.

_"Right now they need to see your vulnerability … your fallible human side … not the well reasoned and logical doctor," she sighed. "You're not presenting scientific research to your peers or trying to win some philosophical debate … you're trying to explain our relationship to six frightened teenagers."_

I stood before the bathroom door, just across the hall from her room, as her words echoed through the corridors of my mind. She was right, of course. It was strange that I could be so compassionate with my patients and then come home and be so distant with the people that I cared about the most … my own family.

"I will try Esme," I muttered earnestly, "I will try."

**0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

The adults sat huddled around the kitchen table talking and sipping after breakfast coffee. It was a sort of impromptu strategy session to plan the course of the days ahead. Today was only Friday, and the weather wasn't expected to warm significantly until late Sunday. This meant at least two more full days and nights in the deep freeze with no electricity. Additionally, it meant that the roads beyond Aro's front gate would remain buried under seven inches of snow and a little over an inch of ice; utterly impassible for the foreseeable future. Our four families were stuck in one house until the winter wonderland that held Atlanta in its chilling grip began to thaw.

We were beginning to to discuss the generator fuel situation when the gaggle of teens under our collective charge washed into the kitchen. Alec was at their lead holding a sled I remembered him having back in Chicago; I hadn't laid eyes on that thing in years.

"The snow stopped last night," Alec began nervously, "can we go out and play in it Dad?"

That was it you see, it snowed so rarely in the Deep South that every child of every age from toddler to venerated elder sought the opportunity to frolic in the fluffy white powder. The last time this sort of weather event happened the emergency department was inundated by two things; a huge spike in the number of motor vehicle crashes due to black ice on the roads and a surge in 'slip and fall' accidents with various fractures to go along with them. I was skeptical about letting the children go outside, but keeping them cooped up in the house might prove volatile.

"I suppose it would be alright," Aro answered thoughtfully. "But I can only speak for Alec and Jane. The rest of you must have permission from your respective parents."

Mike and Jessica conferred quietly for a moment before Mike answered, "Seth and Leah can go out, but dress warm and be careful." Then he chuckled, "Hell, I might even come out and join you later … it's been ages since I last played in the snow."

"You girls be careful," Esme warned, "stay in the grassy areas where it won't be so icy."

My boys looked with pleading in my direction. I sighed heavily before giving in, "Alright, but as everyone else has cautioned … please be careful …" before I could say more the hoard of teens stampeded from the kitchen and out into the frozen world beyond the kitchen doors.

"Why don't you let me have a look at this generator of yours Aro," Mike offered as he stood, "I used to do some general contracting back in Ohio before I started my architecture firm here in Atlanta. I know a thing or two about diesel generators; maybe we can find a way to make this puppy give us more bang for our buck."

"If by that you mean that it is possible to make the contraption run longer on our fuel reserves," he replied, "then by all means, let me show it to you. I suggest you grab a coat, the generator is in a building separate from the house."

Aro and Mike disappeared muttering to each other about generators and operating specifications. The rest of us returned to more casual conversation. A short time later, Jessica excused herself and then returned after a brief absence carrying a Scrabble box.

"The kids aren't the only ones in need of distraction," she insisted as she laid out the game board.

"I do not play," Sulpicia sighed, "my English is not so good. But I will keep score … if you like."

We settled into a game with Sulpicia keeping score. It quickly became evident that our game of Scrabble was shaping up to be a friendly battle of the sexes. To my dismay, Esme and Jessica seemed to be ganging up against me. Every time I flashed her a mock pout, she would grin triumphantly at me. I was hurt and utterly enchanted at the same time … Esme was a master seductress without even being aware of it. The game continued to heat up and I found myself struggling against their combined female intellect; only my knowledge of medical terminology afforded me a competitive score.

"Dr. Cullen," I heard a voice faintly calling my name. My attention turned to the back door just in time for Seth to come bursting through it. "Dr. Cullen … come quick," he panted as he leaned against the door jam, "its … Bella … she fell and hurt herself … she's bleeding."

I exploded from my chair and bolted out the door behind Seth. We raced across the snow covered yard and up to the top of a small hill … at the top; the other teens were gathered in a loose circle. As Seth and I approached, the group parted and I found Bella seated in the snow. Edward was beside her; he'd wrapped her left hand in his scarf and was applying pressure to the area.

"I can't get it to stop," he groaned helplessly.

"That's alright son," I soothed as I knelt beside Bella, "you did everything I taught you," I looked up and smiled warmly at him … father mode, not doctor mode, I reminded myself as I spoke, "I'm proud of you.

"What happened," I asked as I switched from Carlisle the father to Dr. Cullen.

"Bella had one of her signature klutzy moments," Rose sneered.

"Rose," I spoke her name in a gentle but firm tone, "this isn't the time for that."

"I was playing with the others," Bella answered in a ragged voice, "we were having a snow ball fight. I guess my shoe lace came undone and I didn't notice … I tripped and fell … I caught myself before going face first into the snow. My hand hit something … something sharp," she paused and took a moment to gather herself again. "it hurt so bad … and there's so much blood."

In my experience, even a small superficial cut could bleed quite profusely. On the other hand, a relatively small amount of blood could appear like a sea of crimson to a frantic patient. I would need to assess the injury myself … but not out here in the cold.

"Let's get you inside," I soothed as I slid my hands under her to pick her up, "I can get a better look at your hand then."

I lifter her into my arms and began the treacherous journey back across the snow covered yard.

"She's right you know," Bella muttered against my chest.

"Who's right about what?"

"Rose," she replied, "I am a klutz."

"Oh, I doubt that," _father mode_ I reminded myself as I spoke, "you're just going through an awkward stage. I went through one when I was about your age … it passes."

"But you're so … put together and in control," she muttered, "I can't image you ever being awkward."

"Bella, I don't wear long sleeve shirts and long pants just because I'm a physician and it looks professional," I insisted kindly, "the scars on my arms and legs from all the times that I fell in my youth make me look as if I've been through a war zone."

A faint smile curled Bella's lips causing a sudden surge of joy to course through me. Aro always told me that raising boys differed drastically from raising girls, with the later being more of a challenge sometimes for fathers. But I managed to do something right … I comforted …

"Bella," Esme's panic filled voice pulled me from my triumph. As she approached, I could see the look of horror on my beloved's face. "What happened … is she ok?"

"She fell and cut her hand," I started with what I knew, "and I won't know the extent of the damage until we get inside."

I carried Bella in through the double French doors that led into the kitchen. Aro was there waiting for me, he had a large red EMS duffel bag bursting at the seams with supplies; I didn't want to consider where he had acquired it … or for that matter, why? Someone had thoughtfully placed a chair and a stool to face the big bay windows so that I had ample light to work by. I deposited Bella gently in the chair before settling myself on the stool. Esme instantly took up residence behind her daughter, placing her hands reassuringly on the girl's shoulders. Edward found a place at Bella's right elbow. I considered telling him that he was in the way and ought to move, but thought better of it when I saw the cow eyes the pair of them exchanged. Ask later, I told myself as I turned my attention back to Bella.

"Are her shots up to date," I asked Esme in a clinical tone, "in particular, her Tetanus shot?"

She nodded and I noted the paleness of her complexion; concern for her daughter radiated off her in waves. Bella wasn't much calmer, she was trembling with fear. I took a deep breath and tried to remember our conversation from last night; this time however, in spite of the professional nature of the situation, I couldn't retreat into the comfortable guise of Dr. Cullen. Both Bella and her mother needed my skills as a physician as well as my compassion as Carlisle the kind and gentle.

I decided to start with Bella, since I would be treating her, "Easy, sweetheart … calm down," I cooed as I caught her gaze and held it, "I'm going to take good care of you … alright."

She nodded but continued to tremble. What was I doing wrong I wondered. Outside, as we walked towards the house, she seemed to be fine with me … but now, she looked at me as if I was the devil incarnate and I'd come to eat her alive.

"She's afraid of doctors," Alice supplied for her stricken sister, "and needles … and she faints at the sight of her own blood."

"She nearly passed out Dad," Edward offered to validate Alice's account, "she was as pale as death until I wrapped her hand with my scarf."

"Is this true Bella?" I was more than a little hurt by the notion that she might fear me. "Are you afraid of me sweetheart?"

Her expression went from mortified to startled, "Not of you … exactly," she managed to croak, "you seem like a nice man … Edward says your very kind and you're a really good doctor … and … and …"

"Shhh … there, there now." I quieted her, she was becoming more agitated and that wasn't what I wanted. "Everything will be fine, Bella, just relax."

I felt a sense of urgency with regard to treating her hand, but at the same time I was hesitant to rush the moment; this could be my one opportunity to win Bella's trust ... or to lose it, depending on how I handled things.

"It's silly and I shouldn't be afraid," she dismissed her feelings shyly.

"It isn't silly Bella, your feelings are your own and you're entitled to them … never let anyone shame you for the way you feel."

She smiled at me then, all be it faintly, and my heart soared; I was connecting with her. But unfortunately, I now had to get down to the business treating her hand and I hoped it wouldn't undo everything I just accomplished.

"Alright sweetheart," I sighed as I considered how best to proceed. "I need to have a look at your hand now." I was crushed when she instantly began trembling again.

Patients who feared doctors could prove challenging … but in my experience, their fear usually steamed from either a traumatic encounter with someone in the healthcare profession or from a sense of not being in control … or, in the worst cases, both. I was going to bank on the later reason to explain Bella's fear.

"Sweetheart, calm down … calm down," I soothed, "I understand and respect your feelings, but I need to do something about your hand." I watched her for a moment as she took several deep calming breaths in an effort to get a handle on her emotions. When she seemed more settled, I decided to try a somewhat unorthodox approach, "I truly want to help you Bella … but in order to do that _you_ are going to have to help _me_."

"What," She surfaced from the tide of her fear to scowl at me in confusion. I had her attention.

"You're not afraid of me, personally, right," I inquired calmly, she nodded her agreement. "But you are afraid of having your hand treated … correct," she nodded again. "What can I do to make that better … what steps can I take to make treatment easier for you and lessen your fear?" If lack of control frightened her, then I would give her back at least a measure of it.

Clearly no one had ever taken the time to ask her this before and she had to think about it. "I … I don't want to see what you're doing … but I don't want to just close my eyes either."

"That's reasonable," I smiled warmly at her as I answered. I found that I had just as many patients who would rather watch a spot on the wall while I treated them as I had ones who watched my every move with intense fascination. It was a matter of personality and preference. "I think I can manage a position that will accommodate that. What else?"

"I don't want it to hurt." Her eyes widened and her respiration increased as she spoke. Clearly pain management was a major issuer for her … and in all honesty, it was hugely important to me as well; I didn't want to hurt her.

"Again, a reasonable expectation," I nodded as I cast my gaze in Aro's direction, "I'm sure Aro has something in that bag of his that will manage your discomfort." I phrased it as a statement, but it was actually a question … I had no idea just what supplies we had on hand.

"Is Isabella allergic to any anesthetics … especially the type commonly used in the dentist's office?" Aro directed the question at Esme. I turned my focus to my beloved and watched as she shook her head in reply. I could still read concern mixed with terror written in her lovely features. Later, when things were quieter, I would have to do something about that.

"What else Bella?"

I watched her glance up at her mother, then right to gaze lovingly into Edward's eyes, and then to the corner where her sisters stood with my reaming two sons. Something was going on between the six of them, but I didn't have time to consider it at the moment.

"I don't want to be alone," she insisted.

"Don't worry, I won't leave you Bella," Edward took her right hand in his as he said this. There was a new fire burning in my son's eyes that I hadn't seen before … was it … love?

"No one has to leave Edward. I can't imagine forcing Bella to endure this all by herself." I assured them both. "Is there anything else sweetheart … anything at all that I can do to make this more bearable for you?"

"No surprises."

I nodded, "I will announce everything before I do it." That was pretty standard for me anyway, but since she made a point of insisting on it, then I would make a point of doing it.

"I guess that's it," she sighed then she added as a new notion struck her, "Oh, I almost forgot … talk to me."

As a young doctor, I'd had trouble with that last one … talking with patients while performing procedures. It took time to master the skill, but I found that it added so much to the quality of care that I could provide. Distractions helped to set my patients at ease in an uneasy environment.

"I think I can manage that," I offered her another smile and hoped that my efforts were giving her the sense of control that would help her fell less afraid. "May I begin now?" I wasn't about to do anything without her express consent. When she nodded I was relieved.

Slowly I turned to reposition myself in such a way that my upper body blocked Bella's view of her injury and anything I might be doing, while still affording me the ability to glance over my shoulder and see her face. "How is this Bella," I asked as I glanced back at her.

"I can't see my hand or what you're doing," a small half smile curled her lips, "it's good."

"Alright," I breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm going to begin by unwrapping Edward's scarf from your hand." I glanced at Aro, "gloves please."

A closer inspection of her hand reviled a moderate two inch long laceration running diagonally across her palm near the heel of her hand. Fortunately for her, the edges were cleanly cut and not jagged; this would make for an easier repair and less scaring. The bleeding was mostly subsided by now, but it still oozed some in places. This would be a routine procedure; clean it, suture it, and bandage it. As I angled her hand to catch more light from the window and get a better view, something glistened from inside the wound.

"Aro, can I have a magnifying glass and the fine forceps please?"

"Certainly," he replied.

Behind me I could feel Bella trembling again, she had been rather relaxed as I removed Edwards impromptu dressing from her hand and initiated my assessment. "Relax Bella, everything's fine," I cooed as I continued to inspect her hand, "You're doing an amazing job of being still for me."

"What are … fine forceps?" she asked timidly.

"It's just a fancy name for small tweezers, honey," I soothed as I took the items from Aro, "it's nothing for you to get upset about." I turned my attention to Aro, "could you hold the glass for me?"

"Is there a problem," concern tinted his voice.

"I think there might be a foreign body in the wound."

"A what," Bella stammered from behind me.

I peered through the glass at the object imbedded in her palm, "It looks like you fell on a piece of broken glass," I told her as I probed the wound gently with the forceps, "and there appears to be a shard of it lodged in the wound." I turned to glance over my shoulder at her, "It'll have to come out before I can stitch you up." Fear clouded her features again and her complexion went absolutely ashen.

"Easy Bell," I cooed, "you're going to be fine … I do this sort of thing all the time. I'll get you numbed up and then I'll clean things really good, removed the bit of broken glass, and stitch you up."

"And I won't feel it?"

Aro discreetly passed me the syringe containing the local anesthetic I needed to numb her hand. Bella was so focused on me that she never noticed the exchange. "You won't feel a thing sweetheart … that's a promise."

_**AN: Sorry for the delay gang, I went on a spur of the moment road trip with my sons last week. We visited my mom for a few days and then hopped over to Texas to see my husband. My oldest son got accepted to graduate school in the town where my husband works. During all this commotion, my laptop got a virus and my sons had to give it a brain wipe. This is the first new document composed and saved on my newly restored computer**__**.**_

_**FYI ... I'm not a doctor, so don't dog me out about the medical stuff ... I skipped the actually suturing part for a reason ... but Carlisle says it turned out fine.**_


	39. Chapter 39

**NOTE: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters. The material is the intellectual property of its creator.**

**Chapter 39**

**Esme:**

By midday on Monday most of the roads in the Metro were free of ice, but a large number of downed trees kept many of them impassible. The power remained out form much of the city, including my home, Carlisle's house, and Mike and Jessica's place. Aro kindly offered to keep putting up with all of us until the lights were back on for everyone. His home didn't have power yet either, but at least he had the generator and a resupply of the precious diesel that kept the heat on was expected this afternoon.

Schools throughout the metro, which should have resumed classes today, remained closed and might not reopen until the following week depending on how soon electrical service could be restored. Needless to say, the extended holiday break was welcomed with enthusiasm by the children. The grown-ups however weren't entitled to such luxuries. Carlisle received a call from his boss at the hospital while he and I enjoyed early morning coffee; they needed him to come in today because most of the staff hadn't had a break since the storm hit.

"Will you be safe," I remember asking him when he hung up his phone.

"The roads are reported as passable between here and the interstate," he sighed, "that's really the tricky part. GDOT does a good job of keeping the interstates clear."

Before he headed out the front door for work, he promised that he would call me if time permitted … and then he kissed me. Even now as I sat in Aro's den with historical documents and blueprints for the Old Rex Mill Project spread out around me, my mind drifted to that moment. We were all alone in the darkened foyer as he prepared to leave for the hospital; he looked at me with longing in his eyes as he took me into his arms … and he kissed me … passionately. Just thinking about it made my insides churn with giddy delight. No man had ever made me feel the way Carlisle did with just a look, a kind word, a tender touch of his hand … or a kiss. Dear God, I groaned mentally as I tried to focus on my work, I would give anything just to hear his voice right now.

"Uhm … Mom," it was Alice, she and her sisters filed into the den, "are you busy?"

"It's nothing that I can't put aside," I sighed as I pushed the pile of papers into a neat stack. "What's up?"

"Are you really …" Rose began to gripe.

"Rose," Alice interrupted her sister, "we agreed that I would do the talking."

Alice was doing the talking, I mused which could only mean that the topic was volatile. My three little women had very different personalities. Rose was the outspoken one; she knew her mind and, if you were within earshot, then you were bound to know her mind as well. Sometimes Rose's bold nature led to trouble, as those around her saw her as hotheaded. I knew better; she was sometimes brash, that was true, but she was also honest and loyal to a fault. Rosalie possessed all the righteous valor and determination of the Saint Joan of Arc.

Bella was the exact opposite of her eldest sister; my youngest was quiet. When she was small, I mistakenly assumed that her quiet nature meant that she was shy; I soon discovered that I was wrong. Bella wasn't shy at all, rather she approached situations with the thoughtfulness of a Zen Master; she tried to see the challenges of life from every conceivable angle. Only after a careful examination and serious thought would Bella offer her opinion. More than once I found myself dumbstruck by the profound words of wisdom that softly trickled from the Bella's young lips.

Alice possessed both the confidence of her outspoken older sister as well as the deep thoughtfulness of her younger sister. She understood the importance of action, but she also valued careful consideration of the situation before leaping feet-first into things. Alice had what my mother called '_an old soul'_ and she could be counted on to keep a level head in volatile situations. Because of that, she often assumed the role of go-between and negotiator; when Alice spoke, I often thought of elder-statesmen like Benjamin Franklin and Abraham Lincoln.

"Mom," Alice addressed me quietly, "do you really like this … this doctor guy?"

The three of them were still standing as I considered Alice's question. After the Thanksgiving confrontation, I knew that this would come up again, but I was hoping to postpone it until we were home again. That was no longer possible. I sighed heavily and was about to answer Alice when Leah popped into the den. When she saw us, her expression shifted from happy boredom to profound discomfort in the blink of an eye. She was about to beat a hasty retreat, but I stopped her.

"Leah," I called sweetly, "Is your mother still in the kitchen with Sulpicia?"

She nodded.

"Be a dear and go ask her to put on a pot of tea, please," I imposed gently. At home, when we had difficult business to discuss, the girls and I always gathered around the kitchen table over a pot of tea.

Leah bounded off to the kitchen, and the girls took my request as a cue to have a seat. Once everyone was settled, I turned my attention back to Alice. _Do you really like this doctor guy_; I thought on her question a moment longer.

"Yes, I do," my answer was honest and plain.

Rose groaned and rolled her eyes, "well at least he has decent looks."

"Rose," Alice hissed.

"I'm just saying," Rose defended her comment. "I'm glad he doesn't have a bald head and a beer belly, or hairy old-man ears, or …"

"Rose," Alice growled this time.

"Fine," Rose sighed loudly. She crossed her arms and sunk back into her chair.

"He was really kind to me when he stitched up my hand," Bella observed, "He didn't tease me or make me feel silly because of my fear … I liked that." Then she smiled at me and added, "He's nice."

"He's a doctor … he's supposed to be nice," Rose grumped.

Bella scowled at her sister but didn't reply. It was no secret that doctors were not always nice, nor did they treat Bella's anxiety with kindness and respect. She hated her current pediatrician and only tolerated seeing him once or twice a year for routine check-ups. God help me if she randomly got sick; getting her in for an office visit was the instigation of World War III.

Alice cleared her throat rather loudly, "I think we've established the fact that Dr. Cullen is both handsome and kind … can we move on, please."

But before we could _move on_, Jessica arrived with four steaming mugs of tea and a platter of cookies. "Sorry to interrupt," she excused herself, "I'll leave this and let you get back to business." After leaving the serving tray on the coffee table, Jess disappeared back to the kitchen.

"As I was saying," Alice continued. "How long have you been seeing the doctor … why didn't you mention him sooner … and … are you really, like, getting married?"

"That would be huge Mom," Bella chimed in thoughtfully, "Not that having a boy friend and not saying anything about it isn't huge, but … getting married, and not telling us … now that…"

"Bella," I sighed. Already I felt exhausted and this conversation was only in its infancy. "First of all, we're not getting married … he hasn't even proposed …"

"But he will," Rose grumped.

"Well, until he does," I glared at my eldest daughter, "let's bench that question. _When and if_ he gets around to asking, then we can revisit it." I paused before addressing the rest of Alice's question, "Carlisle and I have been seeing each other for several weeks now. I'm very sorry that I neglected to mention our going out. Our first date was sort of a whim and I wasn't sure we would even hit it off. After all, how many lousy first dates has your Aunt Jess set me up with?"

"Did Aunt Jess set you guys up?" Bella asked.

"Not exactly," I confessed. "Carlisle was my doctor at the hospital on the day of my accident. Your Aunt Jess did encourage me to see him however."

"Becoming romantically involved with a patient has got to be a serious ethics violation," Rose sniped.

"Rose, stop being so hostile," this time it was Bella. "What are you gonna do … report him and get his medical license revoked. That's kind of cold, even for you."

Rose rolled her eyes but didn't reply.

"How many dates have the two of you had, and when were you planning on telling us?" Alice continued.

That was a good question, I thought. Did all our brief rendezvous for coffee or lunch count or should I include only our official weekend dates? And when was I planning on telling them about Carlisle; in truth, I hadn't really given the topic much thought. Being with him felt so absolutely right that it was almost as if we had always been together … as if we were an integral part of each other's very being.

I decided to begin with the first part of the question. "Before this weekend, we spent the previous two Saturdays together and we've met for coffee or lunch on several occasions as well … and we talk daily by phone," I admitted.

"So after less than a month of knowing each other, you're professing your undying love for him," Rose groaned. "Really Mom, after all this time … after the crappy way Dad treated you and all the things you put up with from him … you're ready to go there again with a man you've only known for a few weeks."

"Carlisle is nothing like Charles." I insisted. "He's a good man, he would never ill-treat me."

Rose responded with a snort and a smirk, "Yeah right."

"You're not being fair Rose," Bella insisted quietly. "He's nice … give the man a chance."

"You weren't even born yet when Mom divorced Dad," Rose snapped back, "you don't know what it was like. I was little, but I still remember seeing him smack Mom around … so just shut up. _He's nice, give the man a chance _my ass!"

"Language, Rosalie," I warned quietly. I didn't mind a frank discussion but I wouldn't tolerate profanity.

"Most people in the world are descent," Bella answered her sister's harsh words calmly. "Just because one person in your life was bad, Rose, it doesn't make everyone in the world bad. One drop of dirty water in a river doesn't pollute all the water in the world … it doesn't even pollute the whole river."

And there it was; the quiet yet profound wisdom of Isabella Everson.

"Hold no a minute, Gandhi," Rose glared at her baby sister. "The other day, after Mom's Thanksgiving speech, you were ready to help me and Alice with pushing Dr. Blue Eyes under a MARTA bus. Then he flashes you a few smiles and stitches up your hand and you start spewing all this _one drop of water_ crap. What the hell?"

I was about to correct her language again but Alice spoke before I could. "Maybe Bella has a point Rose. Dad was a real piece of work, but that doesn't mean every man in the world is just like him." Rose turned the focus of her hot glare from Bella to Alice as my middle daughter continued to speak, "Maybe we need to give Dr. Cullen a little time and get to know him better. If he really is a douche, he won't be able to hide that fact for very long. Like Grandma Platt used to say; nothing runs like a red union suit in a load of white linens. It all comes out in the wash Rose … eventually."

"Whatever," Rose dismissed with a defeated groan.

"Alright Mom," Alice returned her focus to me, "We're willing to give Dr. Cullen a fair shake."

"But we need to get to know him better," Bella chimed in. "Spending the past few days with him was a start, but …"

"Excuse me ladies," I interrupted the proceedings calmly. While I agreed that they made a valid point regarding getting to know Carlisle better, I wasn't entirely certain what they intended to do should he not meet with their collective approval. Was I expected to break up with him if they didn't like him? Was my choice of romantic involvements truly subject to the endorsement of my three teenage daughters? "Uhm … we're not debating the purchase of a new family car or adopting a puppy from the animal shelter … we're talking about a man that I've fallen in love with. Now, I'm not arguing with the fact that the three of you need to get to know him better, but …"

"Mom, it's ok," Alice cut me off. "We know how you feel about him … and we might end up liking him too. But we'll never know that if you don't give us a chance."

"Humph." Rose grunted. Alice and Bella glared at her, but didn't offer a challenge.

"Ok," I groped for a response, "what did you girls have in mind?"

"In the old days, Grandma Platt said that gentlemen callers always came over for Sunday dinner," Bella offered thoughtfully. "Maybe when we're back in our house again, we can cook dinner one Sunday afternoon and invite the doctor over … if he's not busy at the hospital."

I had to admit, I liked Bella's idea and I nodded approvingly.

"Shopping," Alice chimed in reflexively, "or a movie … or bowling … or some kind of group outing would be nice … just to see how he handles the stress of dealing with four fabulous women all at once. We Platt-Everson ladies can be very demanding you know, and not every man is up to the challenge."

I found myself laughing in spite of the fact that Alice was dead serious. "I think we can arrange something like that."

"Oh no," Alice corrected me with a smile, "WE will arrange … the TWO of YOU will go. You've been dating each other for half a month. Now it's our turn to kick the tires and test-drive the good doctor."

I wasn't sure I like Alice's analogy of test driving Carlisle, but a public outing, as a group, wasn't a bad idea so I nodded once again. "Anything else ladies?"

"That's it … for now," Alice stood as she spoke.

"But we might think of something else later," Bella added.

_**AN: Yes, Blue was AWOL for a few weeks because my life sort of went crazy. After a month in the body shop the insurance company finally totaled my beautiful 10 yr old van that I LOVED. I cried like I'd lost my last best friend when they called me. I thought surely I must be insane to be grieving over a van like that, but after a few web searches I discovered that it's normal. This weekend,I have to drive the rental to Texas to pick up the new Mazda5 my husband bought me. I have an doc's appointment tomorrow about my neck, which still hurts 5 months after the accident. Hopefully the spine specialist I'm seeing can do something ... preferably non-surgical ... to alleviate the pain. **_


End file.
